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The hickory bent, tlie rope tautened and snapped. 
Frontispiece. See Page 46. 


THE BOY SCOUTS 

OF 

BLACK EAGLE PATROL 


BY 

LESLIE W. QUIRK 

AUTHOR OF “the FOURTH DOWN,” 

“the third strike,” etc. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 

WILLIAM KIRKPATRICK 


i 

I 

O 

§ 



aWYAD-Q3S 



BOSTON 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 

1915 ' 



Copyright, igiy. 

By Little, Brown, and Company, 
All rights reserved 


Published, April, 1915 



APR 24 19(5 


PRESSWORK BY 

C. H. BIMONPS CO., BOSTON, V. S. A, 

Pgoa 

©CI.A39'7718 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Hello ! i 

II Head First lo 

HI The Tenth Law 20 

IV On Shadow Island 36 

V Kreeee ! . . . 48 

VI In the Night 58 

VH The Blow-Out 74 

VIII POM-POM-PuLLAWAY 88 

IX The Man in the Alley 96 

X Knots in the Neckties iii 

XI Fresh Fish 123 

XH The Ninth Boy 136 

XIH Thin Ice 147 

XIV Dollars AND Frost AND Fire . . .157 

XV Something for Something .... 177 

XVI Indians 191 

XVH If He Were to Lie 205 

XVHI A Race and a Proverb 215 

XIX The Fizzled Ninth -Inning .... 228 

XX The Trail Beyond 239 

XXI Through Fire 245 

XXH Cross-Country 253 


Contents 


vi 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XXIII The Trudgeon Stroke 261 

XXIV A Matter of Harbors 269 

XXV On the Hill 276 

XXVI Good Signs and Bad Signals . . . 284 

XXVII The Last Lap 292 

XXVIH Leader of the Patrol 302 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


The hickory bent, the rope tautened and 

snapped Frontispiece 

PAGE 

“ It’s stopped, Judge,” he reported to the patrol 

leader. '' She isn’t conscious, but she’s all right ” 82 V 


Even as he whirled forward, like a shot from a 


cannon, his head cleared 153 i 

The Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol .... 254 ^ 



h 


BOY SCOUTS OF BLACK 
EAGLE PATROL 

CHAPTER I 

HELLO ! 


“ Now!” 

With a crash that made every timber in the old barn 
shiver, Specs” McGrew landed hard on his heels. 
It took him a moment to regain his balance; then he 
looked proudly over his right shoulder at the turn- 
ing-pole. 

I did it,” he said. He picked up his glasses from 
the wisp of loose hay where they rested. “ You fel- 
lows saw me, didn’t you ? Come on now, ‘ Roundy ’ ; 
you’re next.” 

But Roundy Magoon, after staring first at the bar 
and then at the other two boys, shook his head and 
slumped back against the old hay-cutter. “ Huh-uh,” 
he grunted. 

Do you mean you won’t even try? ” Specs frowned 
indignantly. ‘‘You know this is the last day. We 
all said that every fellow in the patrol would have to 
do it before to-morrow.” 


2 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

''Well, it isn’t to-morrow yet, is it?” demanded 
Roundy good-naturedly, as he sought for his fat self 
a more comfortable hollow on the mound of hay. 

'‘ Fifteen minutes from now we’ll be on our way to 
Shadow Island; we won’t be back till late to-night. 
That means, of course, that you won’t see this old 
barn before to-morrow.” Specs’ voice was severe. 
" And you and ' Judge ’ haven’t done the trick yet.” 

Roundy looked about him uneasily. " All right, let 
Judge do it first,” he said, as if that made everything 
satisfactory. ^ 

Leonard Lloyd, assistant patrol leader and by six 
months the oldest scout in the Black Eagle Patrol, 
smiled pleasantly at the indolent Magoon. Because of 
his sense of fairness, he had been nicknamed " Judge.” 

" Watch me, Roundy,” he said, reaching up to grip 
the bar. " In one minute you’re going to be out in the 
rain alone.” 

He took a deep breath, and then, with what seemed 
little more than one move, doubled his legs between 
his hands, unclasped his fingers, and dropped down, 
hanging by his knees. 

" All right. Judge,” advised Specs. " A big swing 
now, and remember I’m here to turn you right side 
up, if you need it. When I yell, straighten out.” 

With a jerk of his body to start the swing, Judge 


Hello! 


3 


moved backward and forward unevenly. The begin- 
ning cost two or three similar twists and bends, but 
after that his movement was as steady as a pendulum’s. 
Higher and higher he went, holding fast with his 
knees, till a final great swing straightened him out, 
face downward, almost level with the bar. 

Now ! ” shouted Specs. 

At the word, the other boy’s knees unkinked sud- 
denly. As he fell, his body revolved to an upright posi- 
tion, so that he landed lightly, with legs flexing to 
soften the shock. 

How about it? ” he smiled, steadying himself with 
one hand touching the wall. 

“ Couldn’t be better. Come on now, Roundy. 
You’re the last of the eight of us.” 

Roundy scowled at the bar. “ Did ‘ Buck ’ do it ? ” 

‘‘ Sure, Buck did it. Before he went to Chicago. 
Didn’t he. Judge?” 

The other nodded. 

“ Well, anyhow,” Roundy said, sinking back into 
the hay, “ the day isn’t over yet, and we haven’t started 
on the hike, and — ” 

But he never finished the sentence; for four hands 
caught him, and hauled him, protesting loudly, to the 
turning-pole. 

“ This is your barn,” pointed out Specs, “ or, any- 


4 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

how, it’s your father’s, and it’s your turning-pole, and 
you ought to be ashamed of yourself if you’re not 
willing even to try.” 

“ I’ll catch you.” Judge held out a strong arm. 
‘‘ Why, you can’t hurt yourself if you go head-first.” 

As he leaped up and caught the bar, ^oundy sniffed 
his scorn. ‘‘I’m not afraid of getting hurt, only — ” 

But he was not allowed to finish this sentence, either; 
for, seizing his legs, Specs and Judge brought them up 
between his hands and on over, in such a way that he 
was presently hanging by his knees. 

“ We’re all waiting for you,” said Specs, giving 
Rbundy’s plump body an initial tug and push. 

Once out swung Roundy, and once back ; then, bend- 
ing at the waist, he caught the bar again with his hands. 

“ What’s the matter ? Going to admit you’re 
licked? ” asked the scornful Specs. 

“ 0‘f course not.” Roundy was now lowering him- 
self to the floor. “ But don’t you hear those fellows 
coming along the cement walk? I’ll bet it’s Buck back 
from Chicago.” 

“ That’s not Buck,” yelled Specs disgustedly. 
“ That’s not the way he walks at all. For a scout, 
Roundy, you’re the least observant fellow I ever saw. 
First, there are two people coming. Second, neither 
one is Buck. Third, at a guess, I should say one was 


Hello! 


5 

surely ' Bi ’ ; his long, muscular stride makes that 
sound. The other is either ‘ S. S.’ or ^ Handy.' ” 

The door below rattled, the stairs creaked, and in 
another second five scouts of the Black Eagle Patrol 
were holding a reunion on the top step. 

‘‘Hello, Bi! Hello, Handy! Where's Buck?" 

“ Haven’t seen him." Charley Jones, known other- 
wise as “ Biceps," or “ Bi ’’ for short, took a tre- 
mendous leap at the turning-pole, swung his legs up, 
and then, lowering his body till the bar crossed the 
small of the back, whirled over three times in the 
“ muscle grinder." 

“ Better jump down, Bi." It was Handy Wallace 
who spoke, and Handy was squinting at the wall-sup- 
port of the turning-pole. “ The brace there is working 
loose. Where’s a hammer, Roundy?" 

“ Oh, it’s all right," returned Roundy sleepily. 
“ Never mind the hammer. I fixed the brace so it — 
Give me some of those peanuts before you eat them 
all." 

Specs settled his glasses aggressively on his nose. 
“ This isn’t square of Buck," he said. “ Buck’s our 
patrol leader, and he promised us he’d be back to-day 
in time to take that trip to Shadow Island." 

“ Maybe the Chicago train was late," put in Judge 
quietly. 


6 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

“ The 1 :45 ? ’’ Handy queried. '' That wasn’t late. 
It came in ahead of time.” 

Well,” Judge ventured, as the door below opened 
again, “ this may be Buck.” 

'‘That’s who it is,” said Roundy positively; "I 
heard his footsteps on the walk.” 

" It isn’t,” snapped Specs, kicking at the hay-cutter. 
" I know Buck’s walk. There are two fellows again 
— S. S. and ' Nap.’ ” 

S. S. and Nap it proved to be. Herbert Zane, nick- 
named " Spick and Span ”, came first, his coat off and 
neatly folded on his arm before he even put foot into 
the dusty haymow. Emerson Elliot Meeker — " Na- 
poleon ” — followed, carrying a pair of small field- 
glasses. 

" There you are ! ” Specs continued with a dis- 
gusted gesture. " It’s after three, too. Fine example 
for a patrol leader — that’s all I’ve got to say.” 

Once more Judge raised an objection. 

"We all know that the Sawyers intended coming 
to-day, but they might have missed the train.” 

" They came all right.” S. S. was very positive. 
" We were on Burden’s Hill trying out Nap’s field- 
glasses, and we saw smoke coming out of the Sawyers’ 
chimney, and the shutters were open.” 

" And Buck’s little sister was playing in the yard,” 


Hello! 


7 


finished Nap. Oh, Buck’s folks are here all right.” 

Just then Specs’ quick ears signaled a fresh arrival. 

Sh-h-h ! ” he whispered. This must be Buck now.” 

‘‘ Might be Mr. Stanton,” ventured Bi, dropping 
noiselessly from his perch on the bar. 

Specs shook his head scornfully at the mere idea that 
it might be the new scout master. “ I know Mr. 
Stanton’s step. And Mr. Stanton wouldn’t stop at 
the door that way. It’s Buck, I tell you. We’re all 
here, so it couldn’t be anybody else.” Specs was 
speaking under his breath. “ He thinks he’s going to 
steal up and surprise us. Well, we’ll surprise him.” 

The door below had opened. The newcomer was 
walking softly to the stairway. Specs scooped up a 
big horse-blanket from the floor. 

“ Come on, fellows, catch hold of this.” He 
jerked it open. W'e will go fishing.” 

There was an answering chuckle as the seven boys, 
grasping the great woollen spread, crouched behind 
the high partition that hid completely one side of the 
stairway. 

Ready ! ” warned Specs. When he comes — 
pounce ! ” 

The lowest step creaked as the unseen visitor be- 
gan to ascend. The Black Eagle Patrol smiled 
broadly. Buck Sawyer was not only patrol leader, but 


8 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

he was also the jDCSt liked of them all; and it seemed 
only fitting, after his two months of absence, to give 
him some sort of an out-of-the-way welcome. 

Softly and more softly the steps came, as if the boy 
on the stairs were either a little uncertain of his greet- 
ing, or else planning a pQunce himself. Then, when 
the seven Black Eagles had just come to the conclu- 
sion that they could not (without bursting) hold their 
breaths a second longer, a hand reached past the edge 
of the high wooden screen. 

Bi, the nearest, grabbed it, and with a yell jerked 
the hand and its accompanying body out into the dim- 
lighted room. With an echoing yell, the remaining 
six swamped the entrant in the folds of the big horse- 
blanket. 

It was an exciting five seconds ; for not only did the 
prey object to being caught and cooped, but he was 
assisted in his objecting by Biceps, who for some rea- 
son was elbowing and shouldering the other six from 
the blanket-entangled bundle. 

Get off ! ” he shouted. “ Take that blanket away ! 
Leave him alone, I tell you ! It — 

Why, Buck knows we’re just joking, don’t you, 
Buck?” panted Specs impatiently, as he received a 
shove in the ribs. 

But Bi said nothing. Instead, he lifted the blanket 


Hello! 


9 

from thcf boy on the floor, who had now stopped strug- 
gling and lay quiet. 

Little Nap Meeker peered down at him, swallowed 
hard, and spoke. 

ril be Waterloo*ed ! he said in an awed voice. 

Specs looked next. He said nothing, but it was 
plain that he was thinking hard. Then they all be- 
gan to understand what had happened. 

For on the floor, instead of Buck Sawyer, with his 
broad shoulders and his rosy face, lay quite another 
boy. He was small and slight, with pale cheeks, blue 
eyes, and sandy hair. In age he was not over twelve 
or thirteen. Just now he looked distressingly weak 
and fragile, as if the rough handling had been too much 
for him. 

He stared up at the faces that were bending over 
him, rubbed gingerly the back of his head, smiled with 
a distinct effort, and said: 

‘‘ Hello 


CHAPTER II 


HEAD FIRST 

For a second or more after the boy spoke, there fol- 
lowed a stunned silence. Then the apologies be- 
gan. 

You — you’ll have to ex — ” sputtered S. S. 

We beg your par — ” interrupted Judge. 

‘‘We thought it was Buck,” explained Specs. “We 
thought it was a friend of ours.” 

“ That’s why we were so rough,” Nap pointed out 
solemnly. 

“ You’re not really hurt, are you? ” asked Roundy. 
“ Give him some of your peanuts. Handy.” 

Bi and Roundy helped the late “ fish ” to his feet, 
and S. S. recovered his cap from a fold of the blanket. 
The boy felt the back of his head again, settled his 
cap, and faced Judge.' Somehow or other, strangers 
always picked out Judge as the one to whom explana- 
tions should be made. 

“ I came to tell you about Buck,” began the new boy. 
“You’re the Black Eagle Patrol, aren’t you? Well, 


Head First 


11 


Fm Buck’s cousin, George Payton, and Fve come here 
to Lakeville to live with my uncle — Buck’s father, I 
mean.” 

“ What about Buck? ” demanded Specs. He spoke 
with gruff sternness, quite as if little George were 
somehow concealing Buck up fiis sleeve. 

“ He’s in Chicago.” The boy seemed embarrassed. 

Yes, Buck’s in Chicago — and he’s not coming 
back ! ” 

For a moment the Black Eagle Patrol stood in aston- 
ished silence; then they fired a volley of questions. 
'‘Why not?” "What’s the matter?” "Is Buck 
sick ? ” " Why didn’t he tell us ? ” " Isn’t he coming 

back at all ? ” " Why ? ” " Why ? ” " Why ? ” 

The boy spread his feet slightly, as if to brace himself 
from the onslaught. " Buck didn’t know himself till 
last night. Then my uncle. Buck’s father, decided that 
he ought to go to boarding-school this year. So he 
entered Buck in a military academy near Chicago, and 
— and Buck isn’t coming back,” he finished. 

The Black Eagle Patrol said nothing. They merely 
looked at little George Payton and thought, and the 
things they thought were not at all complimentary to 
that small chap. 

Here was Buck — or, rather, here wasn’t Buck — 
big and strong and happy and the best friend a fellow 


12 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

could want to. have; and in place of Buck stood this 
little, pale-faced youngster, about as big as a minute 
and looking like a match. And a split match at that ! 
It was too much ! 

Without a word. Judge Lloyd turned and stalked 
down the stairway, followed in melancholy silence by 
S. S. and Handy. After them trailed Bi and Roundy 
and Nap. As they grouped in the yard, sprawling 
over the thick grass near the pump. Judge voiced the 
feelings of the crowd. 

“ I feel — he paused — I feel rotten.'’ 

We all feel rotten,” agreed Bi. 

It’s bad enough that Buck is gone,” Judge con- 
tinued. I feel rotten about that. But there’s an- 
other matter. You all know we should have eight fel- 
lows in our patrol, and here we are with only seven. 
And you all know, too, that there’s nobody else in 
Lakeville who’d fit.” 

How about Ernie Langer ? ” suggested Nap. 

Judge shook his head. “ Earnie thinks the Boy 
Scouts are a joke, and so does Billy Reynolds. San- 
ford Anvers — well, there’s no use even considering 
him.” 

Good-natured Roundy ventured a suggestion. 

How about this new kid — George, or whatever his 
name is ? ” 


Head First 


13 

Six Boy Scouts raised their voices in a protesting 
chorus. 

“ You don’t suppose he could fill Buck’s boots, do 
you? ” demanded S. S. sarcastically. 

No-o; he’d have to begin at the bottom, of course. 
But we might get acquainted with him and see what 
sort he is.” 

Judge looked toward the barn, out of which Specs 
was just hurrying, his face one wide grin. 

‘‘ Where is the new fellow. Specs? ” 

As he dropped on the grass. Specs chuckled up- 
roariously. 

“ You know that trap-door that leads down into 
the hayrack above the manger ? ” 

The others nodded. Roundy’s father had given up 
his horse for a gasoline runabout, but the stall and 
manger remained unchanged. The hayxack was a 
wooden-bound chute, from which old Blacky had 
pulled his daily rations. Specs rolled over on the 
ground, laughing, as he pictured it now. 

Well, I wanted to see if the little rabbit knew 
enough to keep his head warm, so I pulled open the 
trap-door and told him to climb down if he wanted to 
see something. And ” — here Specs had to pause until 
he had his laugh out — and then I closed the door and 
piled the hay-cutter on top of it. So he’s down there 


14 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

in the rack like a monkey in a cage. Isn’t it 
great ? ” 

Specs was rolling over again in his merriment when 
a strong hand jerked his collar. It was Judge’s. 

Look here, Specs. You know that’s not the sort 
of thing for a Boy Scout to do.” 

I couldn’t help it.” Specs was still laughing. 
“ And I didn’t lie to him. He can see something down 
there; he can look through the bars and see the sides 
of the stall.” 

‘‘ It’s not the square thing. You had no business 
doing it. It will take more than one ‘ good turn ’ to 
offset that, Specs.” The usually placid Judge was 
angry as he jumped to his feet. 

“ Well,” Specs seemed a little shamefaced, ‘‘ we have 
a right to protect ourselves, haven’t we? We don’t 
want the little rabbit tagging around after us just be- 
cause he’s Buck’s cousin. And, besides, I wanted to 
see if he was any good — and he isn’t! After he 
found he was down there, like a rabbit in a cage, he 
didn’t do a thing. Didn’t even say a word.” 

What does that prove? ” asked Judge, starting to- 
ward the barn, followed by the others in the pa- 
trol. 

“Well, it proves — it proves he’s no good,” ex- 
plained Specs tamely. “ It proves he hasn’t any nerve 


Head First 


15 


or any get-up-and-go about him. When we find him, 
he’ll probably be bawling his head off, and when we 
turn him loose, he’ll go straight home. We won’t be 
bothered with him any more.” 

But George Payton was not “ bawling his head off ” 
in the hayrack prison. The boys found him rather 
uncomfortably cramped and looking not unlike a 
monkey in a cage, but when he was helped through 
the trap to the hay floor, and the others stood back to 
survey him, there were no tear tracks on his cheeks, 
nor were his eyes red. He not only seemed calm and 
quite at ease, but he smiled a little as they stared. 

“ ‘ A scout is cheerful,’ ” Judge quoted softly to 
Specs. “ ‘ He smiles whenever he can.’ I don’t know 
that he’s so hopeless. And now,” he raised his voice, 
'' if you don’t apologize, I will.” 

'‘I — I apologize,” stammered Specs. 

Then, without waiting for a reply, he jerked off his 
glasses, jumped for the bar, and, hanging by his knees, 
swung violently back and forth, finally straightening 
his legs and landing triumphantly upon his feet. 

As he settled his glasses once more upon the bridge 
of his nose, he turned to George Payton, who stood 
a little apart from the others near the stairway. 

“ Maybe,” said Specs, ‘‘ maybe I was wrong in treat- 
ing you the way I did.” (His voice showed that he 


i6 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

believed he was altogether right.) ‘‘Maybe I was 
wrong. If I was, Fve apologized. And now” — he 
paused solemnly — “ if you’ll just try to do what I did, 
ni apologize again.” 

The others stared at Buck’s cousin. He had not 
made a favorable impression, but here was a chance to 
prove himself. The boy looked first at the pole and 
then at the floor. It seemed to the Black Eagle Patrol 
that he grew a shade paler. Certainly, some inner 
struggle was holding him. 

“ No,” he said finally, “I — I don’t think I care to 
try.” 

Specs turned to Judge with an expression that said, 
as plainly as print : “ Didn’t I tell you the little rabbit 

wouldn’t do ? ” The others in the patrol edged back a 
little from the new boy, as if they, too, felt that George 
Payton was an outsider who had once and for all lost 
any chance of ever becoming an insider. 

Luckily, the unpleasant silence which followed lasted 
no longer than it would take to count five. 

“Boys!” The crowd turned suddenly to see Mr. 
Stanton, the scout master, at the head of the stairs. 
Specs’ performance had caused the man’s coming to 
pass unobserved. “Boys, there’s some bad news for 
all of us.” 

“About Buck?” asked Judge. 


Head First 


17 


Mr. Stanton nodded. 

We’ve heard it already. Buck’s cousin — ” 

At this, George Payton stepped into the group. 

“If you’re Mr. Stanton, the scout master,” he said, 
“ Buck has told me about you. He wanted me to say 
--to you that he wouldn’t be back this year, and that he 
thought it would be best to move each fellow up one 
number: make Judge Lloyd patrol leader; and three, 
two; and so on, down to seven. Then — ” He 
stopped suddenly, reddening. 

“ Then — ” prompted Mr. Stanton. 

The new boy threw back his head ; he thrust out his 
chin, “ Buck told me,” he announced defiantly, “ that 
there wasn’t another fellow in town who wanted to 
join the Boy Scouts now, and he said — he said I might 
be trained to join the Black Eagle Patrol.” 

“ Why, yes,” agreed Mr. Stanton easily. “ Yes, in- 
deed, we’ll consider the matter at our next meeting. 
We — ” 

“Do you know the tenth scout law?” Specs de- 
manded of the new boy. 

“Well, what if I do?” 

“ ‘ A scout,’ ” quoted Specs maliciously, looking at 
the turning-pole, “ ‘ is brave.’ ” 

George Payton’s teeth came together with a click. 
He turned to the scout master. 


i8 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

I wish, sir,’' he said respectfully, '' that you would 
stand near this bar while I try something.” 

In wondering silence the patrol watched the small 
boy toss off his coat, breathe deeply twice, and spring 
lightly up to catch the bar. 

He’s got nerve, all right,” whispered Handy to 
S. S. 

The new boy’s face was white; he looked timid, al- 
most frightened. Slowly he djew up his legs; then 
he swung down, his hands dangling below his head 
and his* knees gripping the pole. 

Got some muscle,” muttered Bi as, with a vigorous 
contraction of the body, George began to swing. 

“ All right,” encouraged the scout master cheer- 
fully; know, what you’re trying to do. You can 
make it, too, but if you don’t. I’m here to catch you. 
Straighten out when you’re ready to let go.” 

The boy on the bar was swinging desperately, now 
with his face to the barn floor, now with his back. 

‘‘ He’s no coward,” said Roundy softly to Judge. 

The latter offered no comment. He was studying 
the frightened, grim expression upon young Payton’s 
face, and he was wondering. 

Then, without warning, came a grinding, grating, 
ripping sound, as if the barn were being wrenched 
apart. Handy had been right ; the brace had weakened 


Head First 19 

under the strain. With a final crash, the support of 
one end of the turning-pole tore loose. 

Head first, back down, the boy shot blindly to the 
floor. 


CHAPTER III 


THE TENTH LAW 

S. S. shut his eyes. Specs and Judge lunged blun- 
deringly forward, but the scout master was ahead of 
them. 

Barely in time he was, too. Only an instant before 
the plunging body reached the boards, he managed to 
thrust an arm under it, between the shoulders and the 
hips. Down hard, dividing the shock between his heels 
and his hands, the boy fell. But back and head were 
safe. 

A moment later, as young Payton stood brushing 
himself off. Specs noticed that the boy’s legs were trem- 
bling. 

Are you scared?” asked Specs, with a shade of 
scorn in his voice. 

The new boy faced him defiantly. Yes,” he said. 
I’m good and scared. But somebody’s got to fix that 
pole, because I’m going to try it again.” 

“ Don’t you think,” suggested Mr. Stanton, that 
perhaps you had better put off another trial till to- 
morrow ? ” 


The Tenth Law 


21 


Young Payton turned a white face to him. ‘‘ I 
want to do it now,” he said, while Fm scared.” 

Handy had already brought the hammer from down- 
stairs, and with long tenpenny nails was clinching 
the braces so securely that Goliath himself could have 
done the giant swing ” on the bar without budging it 
an inch. Handy had a habit of doing things with 
tools in a most efficient manner. 

‘‘ Are you sure you want to try it now ? ” asked the 
scout master, placing a friendly hand on the new boy’s 
shoulder. 

‘‘ Fm sure — right now.” 

And I think you’re right,” said Mr. Stanton 
heartily. ‘‘ This time, too, you’re going to do it.” 

Nodding grimly, George Payton jumped for the 
pole. Less than a half-minute later he was standing 
securely on his feet, having swung cleanly off and 
made his half-turn through the air without assist- 
ance. 

The members of the P)lack Eagle Patrol were cheer- 
ing in spite of themselves, but young Payton did not 
stop for a single handshake. He picked up his cap, 
walked to the stairway, and faced about. 

Well, I did it,” he said bitterly. ‘‘ But if it’s any 
consolation to you fellows, and particularly to you ” — 
he pointed a finger at the embarrassed Specs — if it’s 


22 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

any consolation, I say, I’ll tell you that I was scared — 
scared green — this last time, just as I was the first. 
And if I had to do it again, I’d be just as scared. 
That’s all.” 

Then he tramped down the steps with a lot of un- 
necessary noise, and thump-thumped his way out upon 
the cement walk. 

Specs spoke first. 

We don’t want him,” he declared. He hasn’t 
the right spirit. He’s a coward by his own confession, 
and he couldn’t live up to our tenth law. He’s a — 
a sniveling rabbit. Why, when he was in that hay- 
rack, he didn’t say a word; he didn’t even try to get 
out again.” 

“ He didn’t, eh ? ” commented Handy, who was ex- 
amining, through the open trap, the bars of the hay- 
rack. Just let me tell you that if we hadn’t come 
when we did, he’d have been out and free.” 

There was a rush for the wooden cage. 

See ! He must have had one of those tool-bladed 
knives. Look here! He’d pulled two nails from the 
top of the second bar, and he was working on the 
third.” 

That’s right,” admitted Specs reluctantly, as he 
knelt down to examine the evidence. The little rab- 
bit was gnawing his way out; scared to stay there, I 


The Tenth Law 


23 

guess. Anyhow, we don’t want him in the patrol. 
Why, his influence would — ” 

He halted his speech with open mouth. There had 
come a prodigious boom ; the floor had shaken suddenly 
with a force that suggested a stick of dynamite. Specs 
whirled to see Roundy smiling beneath the turning- 
pole. 

“ I did it,” bragged that plump youth. ‘‘ I was 
scared, but I wasn’t going to let any little rabbit stump 
me. Didn’t I make a nice turn. Judge?” 

Judge nodded. He was thinking, not of Roundy’s 
achievement, but of young Payton, who had been its 
inspiration. He was wondering — 

And now,” announced Mr. Stanton briskly, if 
we are to have our supper on Shadow Island, as we 
planned, we’d better be moving. I’m sorry the patrol 
won’t be eight strong, as it would have been with 
Buck, but unless — ” 

Unless what? ” asked Judge quickly. 

‘‘ Unless you fellows care to consider the — the lit- 
tle rabbit as a possible recruit, and ask him to go along 
with us, you’ll have to chant, ‘ We are seven.’ What 
do you think, Judge? ” 

He’s a coward,” put in Specs. 

Judge’s mild reproof was almost a concession. He 
wanted to have a long talk with young Payton before 


24 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

he reached any decision himself; he wanted to watch 
the boy face some crucial situation. Most assuredly, 
the Black Eagle Patrol must not harbor a coward, 
but there could be no harm in inviting him to the 
picnic supper on Shadow Island. 

‘‘ ril look him up,’' promised Judge. ‘‘If he wants 
to come, I’ll bring him over in the launch. Time to 
be moving, fellows. 

The outing on Shadow Island had been planned to 
welcome home Buck Sawyer, the leader of the patrol. 
Handy’s uncle had loaned his launch, capable of car- 
rying comfortably the whole nine of them (counting 
Mr. Stanton), but the scout master had already ac- 
cepted Bi’s invitation to paddle over to the Island in 
his canoe with him. This left but six for the launch, 
unless the new boy chose to accompany them. 

And he did. The others had been waiting but a 
few minutes when Judge brought him down to the 
pier. He was silent now to the point of shyness, but 
he had been talking to Judge. 

“ I guess,” he had told him, “ I must be a coward at > 
heart. What I did on the turning-pole wasn’t anything 
brave. I did it because I was afraid of what you 
fellows would think of me if I didn’t do it. You see, 

I was scared to flunk that way in front of you fellows 
— particularly the one you call Specs. I’d like to join 


The Tenth Law 25 

the Black Eagle Patrol as a tenderfoot, but if Pm a 
coward I know you don’t want me.” 

Judge had smiled back at him. The confession 
warmed his heart toward the boy. He had known 
these things were true while he watched back in the 
barn; and he had a notion that it took courage to tell 
them, as young Payton had told them to him. But 
he was too much boy himself to say so in words. He 
had merely coughed a little, and looked away, and re- 
marked carelessly : “ Oh, I guess you’d have nerve 

enough in a pinch.” 

Down in the cockpit, just behind the cabin, Handy 
was tinkering away at the engine with a huge monkey- 
wrench. Presently he lifted a flushed, perspiring 
face. 

“ Ready! ” he announced, looking about to see if all 
the fellows were aboard. Assured of this, he whirled 
the fly-wheel, the engine spat a puff of dirty white 
smoke from its exhaust pipe and settled down to a 
rhythmical whirr that sent the boat forward at a 
good clip through the clear blue water of the lake. It 
was a boiling hot day, with just enough breeze to 
ruffle the surface, and before they were anywhere near 
the jut of land toward which Handy was steering, the 
boys were peeled down to their bathing suits, ready to 
drop overboard. Payton stripped with the rest of 


26 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

them, looking ridiculously tiny and babyish in his 
skin-tight suit. 

After a bit, the engine began to miss and back-fire. 
Handy tightened and loosened nuts and bolts, and ad- 
justed his mixture, and tested his batteries, and did 
all the other things you do when a motor goes balky, 
but in spite of his skill it stopped altogether. The 
launch was about a half-mile offshore by this time, 
with not enough wind to make it worth while drop- 
ping the hook. 

It was young Payton who discovered the hole in 
the lake bottom. The water was very shoal where 
they floated, and as clear as a crystal. He could see 
the bottom distinctly, with the pebbles and weeds and 
shells lying under several feet of water, quite as if 
they were displayed in some show case. But there was 
one black, blurred spot. 

‘‘Isn’t that a hole in the lake bottom?” he asked 
Judge. “ It looks almost like the mouth of a little 
cave.” 

The others rushed to his side, making the launch list 
sharply, and arousing protests from Handy, who was 
sweating over the engine. The hole appeared to be 
about four feet in diameter, with its sides of solid 
rock. Judge dropped Handy’s lead, but could not de- 
termine the depth because of a slant the hole took after 


The Tenth Law 


27 

going down a few feet deeper than the bottom of the 
lake about it. 

'‘Whew!” exclaimed Specs. "Wonder what's in 
that hole, anyhow?” He looked at Payton. "Dare 
you to dive into it, Georgie.” 

The new boy shook his head, smiling a little un- 
certainly. 

" What you 'fraid of? I double-dare you.” 

Again Payton shook his head. He had stopped 
smiling now. 

"I — Pm not afraid to do it,” he said stoutly, " but 
I don't see any sense in it.'' 

A little snicker grew and drifted about the fellows, 
like the sneer of a summer wind, and then died out 
again. 

"How about doing it yourself. Specs?” asked 
Roundy Magoon good-naturedly. " I dare you to do 
it.” 

For answer. Specs removed his glasses and climbed 
to the deck of the tiny cabin, which brought him to a 
position about six feet above the surface of the water. 
With a careful, measuring eye, he studied the outlet 
of the hole, slowly raising his hands above his head. 

Judge was standing next to little Payton, in the 
cockpit, and saw him tremble. 

" I don't think there is any real danger,” he said 


28 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

thoughtfully. Specs is a clever diver. Why, it’s 
nothing! ” 

“Isn’t it?” asked Payton with a sudden burst of 
emotion. “ Don’t you see that the hole isn’t over four 
feet wide at its mouth, and that it has been worn out 
of solid rock ? Suppose he misjudges it a little and hits 
the edge? Or suppose he takes it clean — it’s like 
crawling head first into a narrow cave in the dark and 
not knowing what’s at the other end. I — ” 

“ Well ? ” Judge was looking hard at him. 

“ I wouldn’t do it for a million dollars,” admitted 
little Payton frankly; and, although he did not realize 
it at the moment, that confession stamped him a cow- 
ard among others. None of them stopped to reason 
that recklessness is not courage. “ Please don’t. 
Specs ! ” 

But Specs was not to be stopped. He was fond of 
the limelight — and he had been dared. He lowered 
his arms and smiled genially. This was his moment; 
he had shown up the new boy in his true colors. 

“Why not?” he demanded. “I’ll probably do a 
lot of things you won’t dare to do — kid! Well, here 
goes.” 

With hands in front of him, ready to raise as he hit 
the surface, and with his body poised perfectly for the 
dive, he launched himself into the water. Payton and 


The Tenth Law 


29 


the other five leaned over the gunwale of the boat, 
holding their breaths and straining their eyes to catch 
the last glimpse of him. 

Specs dived for the center of the hole, taking it as 
if it were a bull’s-eye. Through the crystal-clear wa- 
ter, the others watched his legs moving a little, frog- 
fashion, to add to the force of his dive. Then, with a 
final fillip of his white toes, he disappeared into the 
ugly black shadows of the hole. 

Little Payton sucked in his breath as the other dived. 
He found himself wishing he had pointed out the dan- 
gers more eloquently to the assistant patrol leader. 
The others seemed to have something of the same feel- 
ing now, because after Specs was out of sight, they 
stood about nervously, saying nothing and looking a 
good deal more solemn than boys usually do. Judge 
paced back and forth in the cramped quarters of the 
cockpit. Handy went back to tinkering with his en- 
gine, but his eyes were on the surface of the water. 

“ He probably won’t stay under long,” hazarded 
Payton uneasily ; at least, not this first time.” 

He spoke simply because he was too nervous to 
keep silent. The remark wasn’t tactful, but it was the 
first thing that came into his head, and he blurted it out 
without stopping to think how it might aggravate the 
suspense. 


30 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

It sounded reasonable, though; it was reasonable. 
Whatever Specs discovered in the hole could await his 
second trip of investigation. But he did not come to 
the surface at once. 

He had been under water five or ten seconds already. 
Payton counted another ten to himself, hurrying the 
last two or three a little in his fear. From the lock- 
ers, where they had thrown their outer clothes, he 
could hear a dollar watch ticking loudly. Judge had 
stopped pacing now, and was standing near the new 
boy, shuffling his feet. 

It was nearly a half-minute since Specs had dived. 
There was something peculiar, something unusual, 
something threatening about his staying under so long. 
Where he had slipped through the water above the 
hole, there was not a sign to mark his path. 

A hand gripped Payton’s arm. A shaking finger 
pointed downward. With a dread of what he might 
see, the boy stared back toward the hole. The water 
was not still and undisturbed now. Coming up from 
somewhere below were scores and scores of little bub- 
bles. 

He’s letting — letting out his breath,” came 
Judge’s frightened voice. 

Payton knew well enough what that meant. When 
your lungs are bursting under water, and you are 


The Tenth Law 


31 


tempted to allow your breath to escape, you don’t stop 
to think what will happen if you do. They’ll hurt just 
as much for lack of air, as they will for being expanded 
too long; and when you breathe in again, you’ll fill them 
with water. 

They could see the precious air from Specs’ lungs 
bubbling to the surface. In a few seconds more, the 
diver would be sucking in water to take its place. Un- 
less something were done — 

Judge Lloyd looked at the gaping hole beneath the 
water and shuddered. He was not a good diver, by 
any means, and it seemed to him that if he had been 
the best in the world, he couldn’t have forced himself 
to go to the rescue. It meant diving into a dark, dan- 
gerous, narrow, rock-walled hole far below the sur- 
face. 

The patrol leader looked at the others: at Roundy 
Magoon’s awkward figure ; at S. S.’s horrified face ; at 
Handy Wallace, sitting weakly on the grates beside the 
engine; at Nap Meeker, looking as Napoleon must have 
looked the day of his defeat. None of them was more 
than a fair diver or swimmer. Perhaps the new boy — 
Then Judge laughed a little hysterically. Payton do 
it? Payton, the coward, who had expressed his hor- 
ror of the hole even before Specs dived ! No, he must 
do it himself. 


32 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

Somebody climbed to the cabin deck. It was the 
new boy, Payton, and no other. As he poised for the 
plunge, Judge reached out begging hands, staring at 
him with fascinated eyes. Payton’s face was white, 
but there was determination in his resolute eyes and in 
his hard-pressed lips. His little body was stiffened 
like a puppet’s. But Judge knew instinctively that 
there was no danger of his faltering at the last mo- 
ment. 

He dived. To the patrol leader’s infinite relief, he 
cut the water with the clean sharpness betokening the 
accomplished diver and took ” the hole as cleanly as 
Specs had, almost a minute before. The ripples 
clouded Judge’s view of what lay below, and he could 
not even tell whether the bubbles were still oozing to 
the surface. He was a little glad of the doubt. All 
of them were. 

There followed another awful wait. It may have 
lasted only a few seconds, but it seemed like hours. 
And then — then the tiny Payton came bobbing to the 
surface, working his left arm vigorously and bearing 
Specs McGrew in his other. 

The boys in the boat all talked at once. They jos- 
tled each other to reach out for the two fellows in the 
water and drag them into the launch. They wanted 
to be doing something after the terrible strain. If 


The Tenth Law 


33 

one of them had started a song, they would have 
shouted it forth at the top of their voices. The reac- 
tion from the tense wait had them in its grip. 

Little Payton stood up and looked at Specs, who lay 
still and limp on the grates of the cockpit. 

“ Is — is he dead ? ” he asked weakly. 

Then the others jumped to their work, as do Boy 
Scouts who are prepared, while Payton watched them 
with undisguised admiration. They turned poor 
Specs over, face downward, arms extended above his 
head. Judge knelt astride the body, fitting his hands 
into the spaces between the short ribs. Handy reached 
into the locker for the loud-ticking dollar watch. 
Then, alternately, as Handy said “ Now ! ” Judge lifted 
gently, allowing the weight of the upper body to fall 
upon his hands, only to relax the pressure at the next 
“ Now ! ” and repeating this movement every four or 
five seconds. This tended to effect a change of air 
and to induce artificial breathing. 

Presently, as Payton stood watching, a little fright- 
ened and doubtful as to whether they were doing it 
right. Specs’ lips quivered, and he began to breathe. 
Instantly the others sprang to his side and started rub- 
bing his legs and body toward the heart, thus pro- 
moting circulation. And, after a bit. Specs sat up, still 
weak and confused, but very much alive. 


34 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

When he had fully revived, he told them what had 
happened. He had dived into the hole like a rock, 
going deeper and deeper until he came to the curve or 
turn. Foolishly — this was his own word — foolishly 
pushing forward, he had wedged himself in the nar- 
rowing hole: With shoulders caught fast, and with- 
out space to turn around, he had no recourse other 
than to kick and push his body forward. Eventu- 
ally, of course, he had lost consciousness. 

Little Payton wouldn’t talk about the rescue at all. 
‘‘ It was easy enough,” he said awkwardly; and prob- 
ably it was, once he had dived. But they all knew it 
had taken true courage to plunge into that yawning 
hole. 

“ Fellows,” said Judge presently, ‘‘ I don’t want to 
hear any more dares among the members of my pa- 
trol, tempting somebody to do foolish, reckless stunts. 
I’ll just put one final dare up to you, and then we won’t 
mention the word again. I dare you to show me, 
anywhere on this lake, a nervier chap or a better diver 
than little Payton here.” 

Nobody accepted the dare. It looked for a moment 
as if Specs were about to protest, but when he spoke 
it was to the new boy. 

Payton,” he said, “ do you want to be a tender- 
foot of the Black Eagle Patrol, a Boy Scout? ” 


The Tenth Law 


35 


“Yes!” exploded that youngster eagerly. 

“ Good ! ” snapped Specs. “ I’ll vote for you.” 
Then he turned manfully to the others. “ Fellows,” 
he said, “ I want to tell you that I was mistaken about 
— about this little rabbit. I think we want him in the 
patrol ; anyhow, I do. And we’ll give him a nickname 
right now. He’s ‘ Bunny.’ ” 

And Bunny grinned happily. He was one of them 
now; he was no longer a despised outsider. In due 
course of time, probably, he would be number 8 of 
the Black Eagle Patrol. 


CHAPTER IV 


ON SHADOW ISLAND 

For a time, while Handy tinkered with the balky 
motor, the prospects of getting to Shadow Island that 
afternoon were none too bright. It was S. S. who 
first put the thought into words. 

Handy looked up. “ She’ll go,’’ he announced dog- 
gedly. ‘‘If you get a hot enough spark, and a proper 
mixture, and don’t waste the force of your explosions, 
any gas engine will go.” 

Judge smiled. “ You’ll like Handy,” he whispered 
to the new boy. “ He hasn’t much imagination, but 
he’s great at building things, and plugging along at 
jobs till he gets them done to his own satisfaction. 
You can’t beat him at anything in which tools figure. 
He’ll have that engine going in a minute — sure ! ” 

As if to prove the truth of this statement, the motor 
coughed suddenly, spat smoke and oil and smell once 
or twice, and then settled down to purring, rhythmical 
activity. Handy lifted his hot face to catch the 
breeze, but there was no triumph in his expression. 


On Shadow Island 


37 

From the very first, he had known the engine would 
go sooner or later. 

Ten minutes later, the launch pushed her nose upon 
the sandy beach of Shadow Island, and the seven boys 
piled out. Judge halted for a final command. 

Make her fast, Roundy,^’ he ordered, pointing to 
the launch. “ Come on, you other fellows. Mr. 
Stanton and Bi are already here.” 

Bunny wondered how he knew. There was no 
canoe visible, and he had seen no tracks upon the sand. 
He puzzled over the matter as he trailed the others, 
who followed the beach for fifty feet or more before 
turning into a path that led upward and away from 
the shore. The island, over a mile in length and very 
hilly, appeared to be densely wooded at this end. The 
shade of the trees was grateful to Bunny after the 
glare of the lake, and he sniffed hungrily the clean, 
pungent — Why, it was smoke he smelled ! And he 
smiled all at once : he had learned how Judge knew of 
the presence of Mr. Stanton and Bi. 

-They came upon these two presently. The scout 
master listened gravely to the tale of the rescue out 
in the lake, said a word or two of warning to Specs 
about mistaking recklessness for courage, and smiled 
at Bunny in a way that warmed the cockles of that 
boy’s heart. 


38 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

Bi was dangling a curious bow and arrow arrange- 
ment in his hands and gazing proudly upon a tiny bon- 
fire that crackled and snapped at his* feet. 

Lighted it by rubbing sticks/' he announced. 

For five or ten minutes he explained and demon- 
strated. To Bunny, who had never even heard of 
such mysteries, it was like a glimpse of another world. 
The bow was of hickory, its thong of leather. If you 
were lost in the woods without a match, Bi pointed 
out, you could easily find your hickory bow, and you 
could use a leather shoe-string, or a part of a belt, 
for the thong. Now, by wrapping this latter about a 
many-sided stick of fir, and pulling it backward and 
forward, the stick would revolve rapidly ; and by mak- 
ing it drill into a shallow hole or pit in a block of fir 
wood, known as a fire-board, it would produce a fine 
sawdust, brown at first, then black, then smoking. 
When it gave off a cloud of smoke, it was to be fanned 
gently, until a glowing coal was visible, which could 
be used to ignite some cedar tinder. 

After they had all experimented, with varying de- 
grees of success, and Bunny had resolved to rig up 
his own fire-sticks and practice till • he could do it. 
Scout Master Stanton looked up suddenly. 

Time to get our fireplace built,” he said briskly. 
^'All of us — Hello, where’s Roundy?” 


On Shadow Island 


39 


Nobody knew. Judge explained that he had asked 
him to make fast the launch, and suggested that per- 
haps the boy had lost himself later in following them. 
Mr. Stanton nodded solemnly, but Bunny detected 
several smiles among the scouts and shrewdly con- 
cluded that Roundy might turn up after the work was 
done. 

“ We’ll make it a variation of the man-hunt game, 
then,” the scout master said. ‘‘ I’ll send you out in 
pairs to bring him in. To discover him, you’ll have 
to put yourself in his place as he left the launch and 
imagine exactly what he would do. It will be more 
a test of ingenuity and imagination than woodcraft, 
I fancy. Let’s see: Judge and Bi may go together, 
and Nap and S. S., and Handy and — and Bunny 
here. I think Specs has had enough adventuring for 
one day and had better stay with me.” 

Bunny looked at Handy and smiled. Handy looked 
at Bunny and smiled. Bunny thought : Here I am 

paired off with the scout who has the least imagination 
of anybody in the patrol; but I want to know him, 
even if we don’t bring Roundy in.” Handy thought: 

Here I am paired off with this new kid, who hasn’t 
any more notion about a man-hunt game than I have 
about the language of fishes ; but I want to know him, 
even if we don’t bring Roundy in.” 


40 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

Then they wandered off together, still smiling, and 
saying nothing at all to each other, as strange boys 
usually neglect to do, until, quite by the merest chance, 
they spied a cloth object in their path. 

The object was a cap. Handy pounced upon it 
like a hawk, twirled it about in his hands once or 
twice, and whistled softly. 

It’s Roundy’s, all right,” he said positively, shift- 
ing his weight from one foot to the other and looking 
about him, as if he expected to see the plump boy half- 
concealed in the bushes. “ What do you make of it? ” 

“ Well,” said Bunny slowly, “ a fellow isn’t apt to 
lose his cap when he’s just strolling around, is he? 
Chances are, he was hustling for some reason. But 
even so, a cap’s a hard thing to joggle off. Suppose 
— just suppose — he was chasing some animal — ” 

Yes,” urged Handy, wide-eyed ; maybe a rabbit 
or a badger. Go on.” 

“ And suppose, after it reached this point in the 
path, it disappeared before Roundy came around that 
bend. He swerved suddenly to one side.” 

‘‘ I know which side he would choose,” said the 
practical Handy. “ He’d go to the left, because it 
slants down hill ; the other way, he’d have to climb. I 
know Roundy.” 

I don’t see how he happened to lose his cap. 


[ On Shadow Island 41 

though/’ confessed Bunny, “ even if he did gb into 
the trees here. I don’t — Yes, I do! I’ve got it 
now. A low branch — see, here’s one about five feet 
high — swept it off his head and shot it back to the 
path. Come on. Handy; we’re on his trail.” 

They pushed through the undergrowth to an open 
space beyond. It was slow work, and it left them 
winded. 

“ By the time Roundy reached this edge of the 
woods,” Bunny guessed, “ he was hot and cross and — 
and thirsty. Is there a well or a spring near 
here?” 

“ Used to be a sort of a spring, but nobody uses it 
since they fixed up that other one back where we 
landed. Shall I hunt for the old one? ” 

“ Yes, if it isn’t too much bother.” 

“ Bother nothing I ” snorted Handy. I like this 
game of putting yourself in the other fellow’s place. 
I wish I had brains enough to help. If you were 
twins, you’d be the pair to bring Roundy in. I don’t 
help a bit.” 

But he plodded ahead resolutely, just the same, 
twisting in and out among trees, and up and over 
rocks, all the time descending the slope toward the 
lake. It seemed impossible that Roundy could be 
there still, even if he had halted for a drink of water. 


42 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

but there might be some clue as to the direction he 
had taken. 

Ahead of him, Handy came to an abrupt stop, hold- 
ing up a warning hand. Even as the last twig under 
his foot snapped back into place. Bunny heard a faint 
cry. 

Help ! ” came the call. ‘‘ Help ! ’’ 

Handy turned a startled face. ‘‘ Thaf s Roundy’s 
voice,” he said. Something’s wrong. Come on ! ” 

They broke into a desperate sprint, running along 
side by side, for Bunny was no longer dependent upon 
his companion for guidance. Closer and closer 
sounded the appeals for help, until, finally, after a run 
of two or three hundred yards, the boys came within 
sight of Roundy Magoon — or, rather, within sight 
of Roundy Magoon’s head and shoulders and arms. 

The balance of him was buried in what looked like 
a quagmire of mud. Above him on the hillside a tiny 
spring gurgled, feeding a rivulet that oozed close to 
his extended arms; on either side, apparently, was 
firm land. But for a space of perhaps ten feet about 
him was a sea of slimy bog. 

“ Help ! ” he shrieked at them. “ Help ! I’m sink- 
ing! ” 

Handy acted promptly. While Bunny stood help- 
less, the other found a dead sapling long enough to 


On Shadow Island 


43 


reach the luckless Roundy. Once that youth had 
clutched it firmly, Bunny and Handy pulled hard. 
There was no response, no “ give at all. 

Shall I get the other fellows ? ” asked Bunny nerv- 
ously. “ He may go down deeper — over his head ! ” 

“Look here, Roundy,'’ called Handy; “what are 
you standing on ? " 

“ I don’t know,” wailed the unfortunate. “I — 
I don’t think I’m standing on anything; I’m sink- 
ing.” 

“ No, you’re not,” denied Handy. “ I’ve been 
watching you, and you haven’t slipped an inch. 
Either you’re on a sunken log, or you’ve gone down to 
firm ground or rock. Besides, everybody but Mr. 
Stanton and Specs is out hunting for you.” He 
turned to Bunny. “ No, we found him; we’ll take him 
back ourselves, without help. That’s the test of this 
man-hunt game we’re playing to-day, you know — 
to bring him in.” 

“ You have to get me out first,” reminded Roundy 
in an agonized voice. 

“ Can we do it ? ” Bunny asked. 

“ Easy as falling off a log. First, we’ll need a rope. 
You can spot the launch again, can’t you? She lies 
right along the shore here, about half a mile away. 
Well, you get the anchor line and trot back with it. 


44 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

If you see any of the other fellows, tell them to keep 
off and play the game fair — ” 

Look here,” roared Roundy, I’m not playing any 
game. I want to get out.’^ 

“ You will,” soothed Handy. 

But I want to get out now. You two — two kids 
aren’t strong enough to pull out a fly. What good’ll 
a rope do you ? Get a horse. Get a team. Do some- 
thing, won’t you?” 

Better run along, Bunny,” advised Handy. '' The 
hippo, is getting peevish.” 

As he turned away. Bunny saw his companion un- 
sheath his scout ax and begin chopping at a stout 
hickory tree, perhaps three inches in diameter. He 
wondered vaguely what Handy expected to do with it 
and how he hoped to pull poor Roundy Magoon to 
firm land again. They had tried once with a long 
pole; that effort had been a failure. He could think 
of no advantage to be gained by using a thicker, 
heavier tree. And yet he knew, down in his heart, 
that the other must have some plan, and that the plan 
would succeed. 

By the time he had returned with the rope. Handy 
had chopped down the tree and carried it close to a 
stump on the edge of the bog. He tossed one end of 
the rope to Roundy, telling him to tie it about his body, 


On Shadow Island 45 

just below the arms. Then, pulling it taut, he fas- 
tened the other end to the tip of his tree-pole. 

“ Now, Roundy,” he remarked pleasantly, we are 
going to give you some information about levers.” 

I want to get out,” wailed Roundy. 

‘‘ This stump,” continued Handy, “ will be the axis 
or fulcrum. This pole I have cut down will repre- 
sent the arms, one in each direction from the fulcrum. 
On one end, attached to the rope, is the weight — 
meaning you. On the other, pushing toward you and 
thus pulling the other end of the pole in the opposite 
direction, is the power — that’s us. Do you under- 
stand the principle? ” 

** That won’t help any,” snarled Roundy. I’ll 
come out straight as easily as I will when you pull me 
around a stump. And I — want — to — get — out ! ” 
“ But wait,” cautioned Handy, winking at Bunny. 
“ That’s where the principle of the lever comes in. 
We don’t pull you out straight, not because we lack 
the strength, but because you lack the — er — light- 
ness. So we use the lever. We push it along till the 
distance from the stump to your end — from the ful- 
crum to the weight — is twice as great as the dis- 
tance from the stump to us, and — what happens ? ” 

“ Nothing, I ’spose, except that I stay stuck.” 

Well, you may be right, at that,” grinned Handy. 


4-6 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

“ But the answer in the book is that we will have twice 
as much power as we would with the stump in the mid- 
dle — or without any lever at all. Get that? 

Roundy was sullenly silent. Handy sat down on ' 
the stump and began to whistle. Presently the two 
hands in the mud splashed weakly in surrender. 

“ What do you want me to do, anyhow? 

“ Learn your lesson,’^ said Handy severely. 

“ Here’s the rule : ‘ A given power will support a 

weight as many times as great as itself as the power 
arm is times as long as the weight arm.’ ” 

‘‘Why should I learn that — rigmarole?” 

“ So you’ll know how we were able to pull you out 
— we ‘ kids,’ and so you’ll know how to figure when 
your turn comes to fish somebody out of a mud-hole. 
This lever idea is a good thing to know; most scouts 
aren’t as big and muscular as they might be, but they 
can manage to match a man’s strength this way.” 

There was silence for a time. Then a weak voice 
piped : “ Say the rule again for me, will you? ” 

Handy quoted it slowly and distinctly. Like an 
echo from the quagmire, Roundy repeated it after 
him. Then, with a shout of encouragement, and a 
wave of his hand for Bunny to join him, the adapter 
of the lever principle put his shoulder to the pole. 

The hickory bent, the rope tautened and snapped. 


On Shadow Island 


47 


Out in the mud, Roundy gave a prodigious grunt, and, 
helping with arms and legs, came loose with a wailing 
glu-u-uck! In another second he had scrambled to 
firm land. 

Perhaps fifteen minutes later the three of them 
walked into camp. Handy saluted gravely. 

Here is the missing man, sir,” he said. Bunny 
and I brought him in.” 

Scout Master Stanton stared at Roundy Magoon. 
How on earth — But the explanations could come 
later. 

Roundy,” he said, I think you’d better take a 
swim in the lake. A scout, you know, keeps clean in 
body.” 

“ Yes, sir,” agreed the unhappy Roundy, moving 
away. 

‘‘ And, Roundy — ” 

Sir?” 

“ When you go in swimming,” the scout master con- 
cluded, don’t bother to take off your clothes.” 


CHAPTER V 


KREEEE ! 

As Bunny Payton sat on a rock at the top of the 
hill, dejectedly kicking pebbles down its side, he stiff- 
ened suddenly at the cry. From the north it came, 
shrill and triumphant, a piercing challenge to all the 
world : 

Kreeee ! Kreeee ! Kreeee ! ” 

The boy sprang to his feet and peered toward its 
source. At first, even with eyes shaded by his open 
hand, he could see nothing at all ; then, growing from 
a tiny speck in the sky to a stately monarch of the air, 
drifting upon it with no appreciable flutter of wings, 
came an eagle. It soared over him, circling, and 
dropped from sight behind the fringe of trees that lay 
between his hill and the water’s edge. And, although 
he waited patiently, scarcely breathing, he did not see 
it again. 

After a bit, with a sigh of disappointment, the boy 
sank back upon the rock and resumed his task of kick- 
ing pebbles down the side of the hill. He had never 


Kreeee ! 


49 

seen an eagle before; the brief glimpse had been only 
tantalizing. All things were like that, he told himself. 
You were allowed to discover how good it was to see 
something, or hear something, or be something, and 
then, just when you are reaching out for it, bang! it 
was whisked away. 

The trouble was, he had been banished from the 
midst of the Black Eagle Patrol, and it had hurt more 
than he cared to admit. Two or three hours before, 
it wouldn’t have mattered in the least; he could have 
gone from the fellows with a superior grin, waving a 
pitying hand at them because they had allowed them- 
selves to be tied up as Boy Scouts. But now, not be- 
cause Cousin Buck had urged it, not because little 
Specs had tried to bully him out of it, but because it 
was the one thing he wanted most in all the world, he 
longed to become that tag numeral — number 8 of the 
Black Eagle Patrol. 

For he had eaten with them, and the memory of the 
meal was still with him. He could see the scouts pre- 
paring it: Judge and Nap spreading an emergency sail 
from the launch as a table, and distributing plates and 
knives and forks; S. S. and Specs bringing water from 
a spring; Roundy, clean but not wholly dry as yet, 
slowly and deliberately cutting bread, peeling potatoe's, 
and slicing bacon; Handy and Bi building a fireplace 


50 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

by the very simple method of placing two green logs 
on the ground, side by side, but closer at one end than 
at the other; and, finally, Bi touching off the fire by 
means of his newly acquired skill as a rubber of 
sticks. 

The smell of pine, of fir and balsam, had been in 
the air. And then, gradually overpowering these, had 
come other odors: coffee, steaming and boiling over; 
bacon, crisping on a hot griddle; potatoes, sliced very 
thin, browning in its grease ; corn, still wrapped in the 
husk, roasting in the embers. And everything cooked, 
mind you, to the queen’s taste. 

They had eaten like ravenous savages. Bunny with 
the rest. Never had he tasted anything as good ; never 
had he enjoyed a meal more. Then, when they were 
finished, Mr. Stanton told Bunny something about the 
Boy Scout idea : how General Robert Baden-Powell 
organized a club in England, after being greatly im- 
pressed by the manner in which the boys in Africa, 
during the Boer war, learned to take care of them- 
selves in the wilderness while acting as scouts for the 
army ; how Ernest Thompson Seton started the 
‘‘ Seton Indians ” in this country to teach the boys to 
make camps, build fires, find their way through the 
forests, and follow trails ; and how these two men met 
and evolved the Boy Scout movement. 


Kreeee ! 


51 

Then Mr. Stanton had paused for a moment, idly 
poking at the fire. When he spoke again, it was to 
nobody in particular. 

‘‘ There are lots of boys,'’ he had said, ‘‘ who would 
like to know the green outdoors — the plants and the 
trees, the birds and the animals. They would like to 
know the birds from their songs, and the animals from 
their tracks in the soft earth. And there are lots of 
boys who would like to camp out in the dense woods, 
and know how to do it comfortably, as the Indians did, 
and the pioneer white men. And there are lots of 
boys, too, who would like to live the tales of courage 
and heroism they have read; who would like to meet 
romance out in the open. Well, that’s what scouting 
means to-day. 

“ But it means more. As it applies to Boy Scouts, 
it means expert knowledge of riding, swimming, 
tramping, trailing, photography, first aid, camping, 
handicraft, loyalty, obedience, courtesy, thrift, cour- 
age, and kindness. It seems to me — Bunny, would 
you like those things I’ve been talking about ? ” 

The boy could still recall the thrill that had gone up 
his backbone at the question. Like those things? 
Why, weren’t they what every boy liked? He hadn’t 
understood till now, though, that you could master 
them by becoming a Boy Scout. But like them! 


52 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

I certainly would ! '' he had told the scout master 
enthusiastically. 

And then — Well, it was like the eagle he had 
wanted to study. Mr. Stanton had risen briskly, as 
if he had wasted enough time talking, and said: 

Bunny, the patrol is going to hold a business meet- 
ing now. You know, we must elect a new leader in 
place of your cousin. As only members may be pres- 
ent — ” 

“ You’d like me to go away for a while? ” 

‘‘Exactly!” Mr. Stanton had said. “If you’ll, 
climb to that rock on the hill yonder, you will find the 
view worth the trouble.” 

There had been nothing else to do. He couldn’t 
stay where he wasn’t wanted, of course, and he had 
climbed the hill and slouched down on the rock, kick- 
ing dejectedly at the pebbles about it. 

Again a cry roused him from his dreaming. 

“Kreeee!” it shrilled. “Kreeee! Kreeee!” 

At first, startled, he thought the eagle had returned, 
and looked upward, fully expecting to see the stately 
sweep of wings against the sky. Then, as it sounded 
again, he traced it, and laughed softly to himself. 
True enough, it was the call of the eagle, but it came 
from a human throat. One of the members of the 
Black Eagle Patrol was signaling. 


Kreeee ! 


53 

But to whom? Bunny waited a long minute in 
breathless silence for an answering call. None came. 
He wanted to throw back his head and repeat the 
shrill cry himself, but that would not be right, of 
course. In a few days, or a few weeks, when he be- 
came a scout — 

“ Kreeee ! ” it came again. And then, on the end, 
like the '' tiger ’’ of a college cheer, ‘‘ Oh-h-h, 
Bunny ! '' 

There was a limit to everything. If the fellows in- 
sisted on linking that piercing cry of the eagle with 
his own nickname, they might know what to expect. 
Defiantly, yet with a thrill of honest enjoyment. 
Bunny Payton tilted his chin upward, opened his 
mouth a little, and shrilled back, “ Kreeee 1 Kreeee ! 
Kreeee ! ’’ 

When he joined the group a minute later, his quick 
eye caught new expressions on some of the faces. All 
of the fellows seemed to be regarding him with un- 
usual interest. He thought guiltily of the signal he 
had answered and began to wish he had not yielded 
to the temptation. 

Well,” he began awkwardly, did you get your 
business done?” 

'' All done,” answered Scout Master Stanton. 

Judge is now patrol leader, to succeed your cousin. 


54 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

with Bi the assistant ; we advanced each scout one po- 
sition, so that Specs is now seven instead of eight; 
and— 

As the man paused, Bunny was conscious that each 
of the fellows was watching him closely. He looked 
about the circle with wondering eyes. 

“ — and,’’ concluded Mr. Stanton, ‘‘ we voted to ac- 
cept you as the next member of the patrol. As soon 
as you have qualified for tenderfoot, therefore, you 
will be sworn in as a Black Eagle.” 

The world seemed to turn topsy-turvy. Boys and 
trees and sky and lake blurred hopelessly. With a 
quick gesture. Bunny Payton swept his hand across 
his eyes. 

“You mean that as soon as — as — ” 

“ When you know the scout law, sign, salute, and 
significance of the badge — ” 

“ I know them now, sir,” said the boy. “ I’ve had 
Buck explain everything to me.” As if to prove his 
knowledge, he held up his right hand, with three 
fingers extended, and thumb and little finger touching 
across the palm. Gravely, but with the unwavering 
certainty of one who has practiced it often, he raised 
the hand to his forehead in salute. 

Scout Master Stanton answered it. A moment’s 
quick questioning proved the truth of the boy’s state- 


Kreeee ! 


55 

merit. It was obvious that he knew quite as much 
about scoutcraft as the average tenderfoot. 

Do you know the composition and history of the 
national flag, and the customary forms of respect due 
to it? 

I do, sir,’’ Bunny told him promptly ; and he gave 
the necessary information without halting. 

Can you tie the required knots ? ” 

Bunny looked around. Divining the object of his 
search. Judge tossed him a short piece of hemp rope, 
which had been whipped ” at the ends to prevent 
fraying. With sure fingers, the boy fashioned in quick 
succession a bowline, a sheepshank, a halter, and a 
clove-hitch knot, each tied rapidly, each holding fast 
as he pulled it tight, and each coming undone easily 
afterward. He was preparing to try a fifth when Mr. 
Stanton stopped him. 

‘‘ We only require four,” he said, ‘‘ and as there’s a 
storm coming up, we must not waste time. But I think 
it is only fair to allow you to take the scout oath now 
— if you wish.” 

If he wished! The whole thing had come so sud- 
denly that he was still a little dazed. But he knew 
well enough that he couldn’t wait; he wanted to join 
the scouts that very instant. If he wished! 

Please ! ” he begged a little incoherently. Now ! ” 


56 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

From the south came the fringe of the approaching 
wind. Trees bowed to it, and leaves fluttered. Some- 
where in the distance the thunder rolled chok- 
ingly. 

“ Very well,” said the scout master, quite as if he 
had not heard the sound. “ You may repeat the oath 
after me.” 

I know it by heart,” confessed Bunny. 

Mr. Stanton nodded. Bareheaded, with his hair 
blowing in the breeze, the boy stepped forward. Once 
more he held up his right hand, palm to the front, 
thumb resting on the nail of the little finger, the other 
three fingers upright and together. 

The breeze had been a vagrant. It was gone now, 
leaving in its place a perfect calm, which made the 
words of the oath singularly impressive. 

* On my honor,' ” the boy repeated solemnly, “ M 
will do my best : 

^ I. To do my duty to God and my country, and to 
obey the scout law ; 

‘ 2. To help other people at all times ; 

‘‘ ‘ 3. To keep myself physically strong, mentally 
awake, and morally straight.' ” 

As he finished. Scout Master Stanton grasped his 
hand. 

“ Tenderfoot Payton,” he said, “ I congratulate you; 


Kreeee ! 


57 

you may now consider yourself a member of the Black 
Eagle Patrol.” 

Tenderfoot Payton threw back his head and lifted 
his chin till it pointed toward the approaching storm in 
the South. 

‘‘ Kreeee ! ” he called loudly, that all the world might 
hear, and proudly, as one who at last had the right. 
‘‘ Kreeee ! Kreeee ! ” 

The echo was a distant thunderclap. 


CHAPTER VI 


IN THE NIGHT 

‘‘ And now,” said Scout Master Stanton briskly, “ I 
think it’s about time to break camp, before that storm 
hits us. Sure you can manage the launch, Handy, if 
the lake gets lumpy ? ” 

“ Sure of it, sir,” returned Handy with quiet confi- 
dence. 

“ How about the canoe, Bi ? ” 

“ Well, we’ve got a good twenty minutes before the 
real wind comes,” promised Bi, squinting critically at 
the jagged bits of cloud that were scurrying across the 
sky. If we start now, we ought to be able to paddle 
to the mainland before the wind gets too fresh.” 

“ Then,” said Mr. Stanton promptly, let’s run for 
it.” And, quite as if he were a boy himself, he leaped 
lightly over the logs that made the fireplace and started 
down the hill behind them. 

“ They leave their canoe down there because it’s a 
little closer than the beach where we land,” Handy ex- 
plained to Bunny. Too shallow just off shore for 
the launch, though, and — ” 

He was interrupted by a quick order of Judge’s. 


In the Night 59 

Without waiting to complete the sentence, Handy 
jumped to his feet, ready and eager to fulfill whatever 
duties might be assigned him. This loyal response to 
the call of the leader pleased Bunny immensely. It 
kindled his respect for both Handy and Judge. He, 
too, sprang up. 

‘‘ What can I do ? ’’ he asked, saluting. 

Judge told him in a matter-of-fact way, but Bunny 
caught the gleam of satisfaction in the patrol leader’s 
eyes. It was exactly as if Judge had reached out and 
shaken his hand. Bunny bent to his work with a song 
in his heart. 

When they had packed everything that was to be 
taken home, and pulled apart the logs of the fireplace, 
and poured water on the smoldering embers, and buried 
the refuse of the supper, leaving the place as spick and 
span as they had found it, Judge led the way down the 
twisting path to the beach. Bunny recalled that it 
came down to the sandy shore at a point some fifty 
feet from the launch. 

By this time the wind was beginning to whistle, and 
the clouds that banked up in the west promised an un- 
usually short span of twilight. So dark was it already, 
indeed, that Bunny could not see the launch as they 
emerged from the path to the beach. Ahead of him, 
also peering. Judge and the others had stopped ab- 


6o Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

ruptly, as if startled. Bunny looked again. As his 
eyes grew accustomed to the semi-darkness, the scene 
became more distinct. 

He could follow, for a hundred feet, the line where 
sand and water met. He could see the eager little 
waves lapping the shore. He could make out a bit 
of driftwood thrown up on the beach — a rock — the 
tree to which Roundy had fastened the line from the 
launch — the — No, there was no longer any doubt 
about it. The boat was gone! 

A nervous hand clutched Bunny's arm. A trem- 
bling voice spoke into his right ear. It was Roundy’s. 
“ Wha-what is it? Did you see the — bear? ” 

“ The bear? I — What bear? ” 

But before Roundy could explain, the others had 
discovered that the launch was missing. They rushed 
forward. Everybody seemed to be trying to talk at 
once, and the hubbub raged and lulled like the roaring 
wind. Presently Judge came over toward the two in 
the background. 

Roundy,” he said sharply, did you make the 
launch fast?” 

“ I tried to, yes.” 

Tie the line firmly to the tree ? ” 

“Yes, sir, I — I think so.” 

“What kind of a knot?’’ 


6i 


In the Night 

“I — I don’t exactly recall, Judge.” 

“ Roundy,” said the patrol leader severely, you 
have violated a part of the first scout law. You have 
been trusted on your honor to do exactly a given task, 
and you have failed. You aren’t trustworthy in little 
things; you don’t do them thoroughly. Now, as a 
result of your carelessness, we are marooned here on 
Shadow Island.” 

“ Three cheers ! ” called S. S., quite missing the 
point of the reprimand. 

Do you suppose Napoleon was glad to be sent to 
St. Helena? ” Nap reproved him. 

‘"Well,” concluded Judge, ''we won’t talk about 
your weaknesses any more just now, Roundy. We 
can’t, if we’re to keep cheerful. And there’s no use 
staying down on this windy beach, either. Suppose 
we climb the hill to our old place and build a good 
camp-fire ? ” 

As the boys marched up the winding path again. 
Bunny turned back to S. S., who happened to be just 
behind him. " Judge was pretty hard on Roundy, 
wasn’t he?” 

" Oh, I don’t think so. He might have made him 
hand over his scout badge, you know.” 

" But he didn’t do anything really wrong,” persisted 
Bunny. " I’ve been as careless as that lots of times.” 


62 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

Better not be again/’ advised S. S., with a chuckle, 
if you expect to stick with the Black Eagle Patrol. 
Well, here we are on the old camping-ground once 
more. What now. Judge? ” 

‘‘ Kindling first,” returned the leader. Everybody 
scout for it — leaves, twigs, dead branches, dry bits of 
wood, and other stuff like that.” 

Five minutes later the fire was blazing cheerfully. 
The dead leaves had been touched with a match ; then, 
as they flared up, they had been thatched loosely with 
the twigs and branches, that there might be plenty of 
air for draft; and, finally, the heavier sticks had been 
placed on these, as the flames licked upward, till the 
camp-fire was as large as Judge thought wise. 

“ You fellows know the Indian saying,” he laughed. 
^ White man heap fool, make um big fire — can’t get 
near! Injun make um little fire — get close! Ugh! 
Good!’” 

It wasn’t a big fire, to be sure, but Bunny found it 
wonderfully appealing. They squatted about it like 
Indians, and talked, and sang, and told stories, and 
listened to the roaring wind in the tree-tops. The 
storm itself had passed them to the westward, but they 
were apparently in the full swing of the gale that car- 
ried it along. 

Presently, as they lapsed into silence before the 


In the Night 63 

trumpeting of the wind, Bunny fell to studying the 
faces about the golden circle and to watching the 
tongues of flame that pierced the blackness of the 
night. Occasional sparks shot upward, searing their 
way through the darkness, sometimes blotting out in 
mid-air, sometimes falling like comets. To the left of 
the camp-fire, for example, there was one space that 
seemed always aglow with a popping ember, that rose 
and fell, and rose and fell — 

'‘Judge! ” called the tenderfoot of the Black Eagle 
Patrol. 

" Well?’^ 

" There’s a light over yonder — a torch or a lantern 
or something — that keeps waving up and down time 
after time. I thought first it was a spark from the 
fire, but — ” 

" Where ? Show me I ” said the patrol leader 
quickly, kneeling just behind him. He followed the 
boy’s pointing finger. " I thought so ! One — two ; 
one — two; one — two. That’s E.” 

" What is it ? ” asked Bunny curiously. 

“ The torch wig-wag,” explained Judge. " Mr. 
Stanton must be signaling to us. It’s over on the 
mainland. He’s spelling the letter E, one wave to the 
right and one to the left. That means he is trying to 
call us. Wait.” 


64 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

He snatched a burning stick from the fire. Facing 
the blackness from which the signal glowed, Judge 
held his torch high above his head. Then, so rapidly 
that Bunny could hardly follow his movements, he 
swung it in a wide arc to his left. Twice he repeated 
this swing; twice more; then he lowered the torch 
straight down in front of his body, immediately return- 
ing it to a position above his head. 

Bunny sidled over close to Handy, who was 
watching Judge intently and spelling out the 
message. ‘‘Two — two,” he counted; “two — two; 
three.” 

“What does that mean?” asked Bunny, feeling as 
helpless as if he were quite blind. He promised him- 
self that the next time he saw a wig-wagging torch, 
he would be able to read it like a book. 

“ That’s the acknowledgment of the call,” Handy 
explained readily. “ It’s the code for ‘ I understand.’ 
Now Mr. Stanton knows we are ready to receive any 
message he may want to send. There it is.” 

“ Read me what he says, please ! ” begged the new 
member of the patrol, watching the queer streaks of 
moving fire that gored the black sky. 

Handy nodded. “ ‘ What — is — wrong? ’ ” he in- 
terrupted, studying the flashes. Then, as Judge drew 
a fresh blazing torch from the fire, raised it above his 


In the Night 65 

head, and swung it to right and left and straight down- 
ward, he spelled out the words of the answer : 

‘‘‘Boat — gone — adrift.’ ” 

The questions and answers were now flashing rap- 
idly. 

“ ‘ Came — ashore — here,’ ” reported the distant 
torch. “‘All — safe?”’ 

“ ‘ Yes,’ ” was Judge’s terse response. 

“ ‘ Lake — too — rough — come — after — you — 
advise — camping — for — night — if — boys — not 
— afraid.’” 

“ Aw, shucks ! ” protested Bi indignantly, quite as if 
Mr. Stanton had spoken the words aloud ; and “ What 
does he think we are ? ” asked Specs warmly. The 
others grunted impatiently. Each had been reading 
the messages word for word. 

“‘No — cowards — here,”’ was Judge’s quick re- 
sponse to this challenge, according to Handy; and 
Bunny threw back his shoulders with a little gesture 
of pride. His courage was no longer doubted. 

“ ‘Have — notified — parents,’ ” signaled the scout 
master. “ ‘ Mrs. — Zane — says — tell — S. S. — 
not — forget — use — tooth-brush.’ ” 

Bi howled his glee over this admonition, while poor 
Spick and Span slunk back into the darkness of the 
shadows. His mother didn’t need to let the whole 


66 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

world know he was required to carry a tooth-brush. 

^ Build — thatched — lean-to/ ’’ came the next 
message. ‘‘ ‘ Make — bed — balsam — or — hemlock 
— branches — use — sail — understand ? ’ ’’ 

‘‘ ^ Yes/ ’’ answered the laconic Judge. Handy ex- 
plained his fondness for this word by telling Bunny it 
was abbreviated to the letter y in the code, which was 
one — one — one, or merely three swings to the right. 

‘ Will — build — at — once — good — night.’ ” 

‘ Good — night,’ ” flashed the distant torch. It 
blazed brightly for a moment; then the blackness of 
the night seemed to close about it and snuff it out. 

Judge piled wood on the camp-fire, stick on stick, till 
it was blazing furiously, with flames that leaped high 
into the air and lighted clearly the surrounding space. 
A brief search revealed what he wanted — two trees 
some ten feet apart, with branches six or eight feet 
above the ground. Between these two trees he placed 
a long pole, and, slanting outward from it to the 
ground, like the gently sloping roof of a house, other 
poles that were brought him by the boys. These were 
criss-crossed by still others, until the lean-to was a 
checker-board of saplings and dead limbs. Upon this 
framework were thatched scores and scores of branches 
or fans of balsam and hemlock, making a roof that 
would keep out dew and that would resist rain for a 


In the Night 67 

long time. The same material that was used for a 
roof served also for the bed. 

So familiar was Judge with the construction of a 
lean-to, and so willing were his workers, that it seemed 
to the awed Bunny no time at all before the shelter 
was completed. It was not a house, nor yet a tent, 
but the soft, springy, fragrant bed under a fellow's 
body and the leafy, rustling roof over a fellow’s head 
made it all any one might wish. Bunny said as much 
to Roundy, as they rested from their labors. 

Oh, it’s not so bad,” conceded Roundy, but ” — 
he looked behind him, toward the dark shadows of the 
woods, and shuddered — ‘‘ but what good would it be 
against a bear ? ” 

Bear ! ” exclaimed Bunny, recalling the interrupted 
conversation down on the beach. ‘‘ What bear ? ” 

The one that chased me this afternoon. You see, 
after I fixed the launch, I followed you fellows up the 
path. I guess I didn’t turn off the right place to get 
here; anyhow, I wandered on past a bit. I heard a 
noise in the path behind me, and stopped to see which 
one of you was in sight. Well, sir, there was a big, 
brown, shaggy animal loping after me. It was a bear. 
I knew. I ran as fast as I could, turned a bend in the 
path, ducked into the brush at one side, crashed through 
the undergrowth, raced down the side of the hill, and 


68 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

was skipping over that boggy place at the bottom when 
I began to sink. Then — Well, you and Handy 
showed up, and — and that’ s all.” 

Bunny should have been excited about the bear, of 
course. But he wasn’t. He thought of the story he 
had woven for Handy: how Roundy here had been 
chasing something, and had been winded and thirsty 
after getting through the brush, and had presumably 
gone to the spring for a drink. And here was Roundy 
smashing all his theories to smithereens. It left 
Bunny feeling guilty, somehow, exactly as he might 
have felt if he had told a lie. It subdued him, more- 
over; he wasn’t as smart as he had thought himself. 

Oh, well, bears wouldn’t come up to a fire,” he 
told Roundy carelessly. He wasn’t sure whether this 
was true or not, but he thought he remembered reading 
it somewhere. Roundy merely sniffed. 

Judge fixed the camp-fire for the night. S. S. re- 
moved his coat and folded it neatly. All of them 
loosened their shirts at the necks, and unlaced their 
shoes, preparatory to kicking them off. Then Nap, 
official bugler of the patrol, took his horn from its 
leather case, and, during a lull of the roaring wind, 
blew the sweet, clear notes of taps.” 

Next to Bunny, S. S. was the smallest of the patrol. 
The new member looked at him expectantly, watching 


In the Night 69 

to see if he would tumble into bed first. Instead, S. S. 
dropped to his knees and bowed his head beside the 
bed. 

It came to the astonished Bunny, all at once, that 
the boy was praying. He could feel his own face 
flush. He prayed at home himself, of course; every 
fellow in a good home did that. But it must take 
courage to dare the taunts of — And then Bunny 
looked at the others. 

They were all praying, simply, honestly, naturally, 
quite as if there could be no thought of overlooking 
this final word to Him. 

Bunny’s hands clenched into hard fists. The flush 
on his face burned now like fire. Only a few hours 
before, in this very spot, he had sworn to do his duty 
to God, and he had promised to be reverent and faith- 
ful in his religious duties. Yet it had needed this 
example to make him bow his head. 

You coward ! ” he told himself, remembering his 
complacency when Judge had signaled to Mr. Stan- 
ton. ‘‘ No — cowards — here. Yes, that’s what you 
are — a coward I ” 

- It was no matter of courage now, after the others 
had prayed; but Judge smiled, as he saw this new boy 
kneel. There had been a time, not so very long ago, 
when Judge, as tenderfoot in another patrol, had 


70 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

learned this same lesson. It was one no fellow ever 
forgot. 

The bed of balsam, as Bunny had said, was soft and 
springy and fragrant. The leafy roof rustled softly. 
The wind crooned a lullaby. Almost before his body 
had sunk comfortably into the leaves, he was sound 
asleep. 

He woke with a start. It seemed to him hours must 
have passed, but he had no way of telling. It was still 
night, but the wind had died out, and frightened-look- 
ing clouds skulked across the sky. Something had 
roused him from — 

Then he heard it again : a cry that stiffened his back- 
bone like a ramrod. It began as a scream, a screech, 
discordant and horrible, and ended with a long, mourn- 
ful wail. 

He sat up suddenly. The fire was a mere red blur, 
but as he trie^ to pierce the darkness with his eyes, a 
dry stick blazed up like a beacon. While it flared, he 
turned to see if anybody else was awake. Each of the 
others slept like a baby. 

Bunny set his teeth. In the very act of reaching 
over to touch Judge’s shoulder, he halted his arm. He 
had been a coward in enough different ways for one 
day. Even if this howling beast should be a bear, it 
might come no nearer. 


71 


In the Night 

He shivered a little. The night air was cool; it 
would do no harm, certainly, to stir up the fire. So he 
crept silently over to it, and poked it until it crackled 
and burned with both heat and light. What was it 
he had told Roundy ? Oh, yes — that bears wouldn’t 
come up to a fire. He wondered if he had really read 
that or just conceived it as a retort to Roundy. He 
couldn’t be sure. 

The scream rang out again, more terrifying than be- 
fore, followed hard by the wailing ba-aw-ow- 
ow ! ” 

Bunny cringed back in fresh alarm. The animal 
was much nearer than it had been at the last call; 
it was closing in on the camp. 

The boy threw fresh wood upon the fire, stirring 
desperately at the glowing embers. Back of him, on 
the balsam bed, somebody moved uneasily. And once 
more, from a point only two or three hundred yards 
down the hill, came the double cry, half jangling 
screech, half deep-lunged baying. 

Did bears circle a camp, awaiting a favorable op- 
portunity to spring upon their victims? Or did they 
come rushing in, afraid of neither man nor beast? 
Bunny wished he knew. 

He could hear it now as it rushed up the hill, its body 
swishing against bushes and weeds. And back of it. 


72 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

down toward the shore, he could hear low rumbles, 
like roars or growls. Perhaps — 

What’s the matter, Bunny ? ” 

It was Judge’s low voice in his ear. Even before 
he was through speaking, the awful scream came 
again. 

‘‘ That’s a screech-owl,” explained Judge. ‘‘ After 
you’ve been with us a while, you’ll know most of the 
birds and animals when you hear them.” 

Ba-aw-ow-ow ! ” wailed the other cry, now almost 
on top of them. 

‘^You know what that is, of course?” the patrol 
leader asked. 

Is it a — bear? ” 

‘‘No, just a dog; a hound, to be exact. And, un- 
less I am very much mistaken, it’s Bi’s. If it is — 
Hello, old fellow.” 

This last was a greeting to a dog that came bounding 
into the circle of light. Almost on his heels, Bi Jones 
and Scout Master Stanton pushed forward. As they 
camb into sight, the owl, somewhere down the hill, 
screeched mournfully, and the dog bayed his defiance. 
This brought the other scouts tumbling out of their 
beds. 

“ Ready to break camp ! ” boomed Scout Master 
Stanton. “ Bi and I are here with the launch ; it looks 


In the Night 73 

like rain, and there are some worried parents across on 
the mainland. Hustle, everybody ! ” 

Roundy came from the lean-to, rubbing his eyes. 

Who owns that dog? ’’ he demanded suddenly. 

“ I do,” said Bi. “ Had him here this afternoon, 
but he wandered off on an exploring trip about the time 
you started to — er — clean up for supper. Didn’t 
see him before, did you? ” 

I might have,” said Roundy cautiously. He 
looks something like a bear to me.” 

Two hours later, in his little room in Uncle Henry 
Sawyer’s house. Bunny lay in bed, listening to the pat- 
ter of rain on the shingled roof close above him. 

“ It’s been a wonderful day,” he told himself for the 
twentieth time; the most wonderful day I ever lived. 
If I hadn’t joined the Black Eagle Patrol, I might 
never have known how many things there are to know, 
or how many I ought to know, or ” — here he pressed 
his lips hard together — “ how many I’m going to 
know. Let’s see, now; Judge says a bear goes 
^ Boorrr ! ’ and a screech-owl — ” 

George!” 

Yes, uncle? ” 

Turn over, George; you’re talking in your sleep.” 


CHAPTER VII 


THE BLOW-OUT 

It was. a merry melody that Bunny Payton whistled 
as he propelled the broom around the irregular floor 
of the porch. He did not enjoy sweeping, but a most 
important scout law is to be cheerful, and it is a good 
deal more sensible to whistle merrily when you are by 
yourself than to smile merrily. Besides, whistling is 
much easier. Therefore, Bunny Payton whistled. 

“ All done ! ’’ he announced, as his aunt appeared in 
the doorway. “ Wasn’t that a quick job? ” 

The woman regarded him curiously for a moment 
without speaking. “ George Payton,” she said at last, 
tell me, are you a good Boy Scout ? ” 

Bunny drew himself up. “ You bet I am,” he said 
proudly. I’m only a tenderfoot now, but I’ll be a 
first-class scout in no time. I live up to all the laws, 
too: I’m trustworthy; I’m loyal; I’m helpful; I’m — ” 
You read me the list of laws the other night,” his 
aunt interrupted. But I wish you’d tell Mr. Stan- 
ton to put in a law or two about porch-sweeping.” 

I do things all right, and I do them quick,” he de- 


The Blow-Out 


75 


fended himself. “ Why, last night we had a drill 
giving first aid to the injured, and I was quicker than 
any of the others. I know just as much about it as 
they do, even if I’ve only been a scout for two weeks. 
Then I carry around one of the Red Cross First Aid 
Kits, too.” He tapped his coat pocket. 

‘‘ You’re perfection itself,” laughed his aunt, pre- 
tending to chase him off the porch with the broom. 

Go along with the rest of the boys now, and tell Mr. 
Stanton to draft a scout law about porch-sweep- 
ing.” 

Bunny ran off, feeling strangely uncomfortable. 
Why wasn’t he a good Boy Scout? He was trust- 
worthy, surely, and kind, and he lived up to all the 
laws. Last night, in the first aid drill, he had finished 
when S. S. was only half through, and S. S. was sup- 
posed to be the best of them all. But the joy of fall- 
ing in with the rest of the patrol drove this mild worry 
from his head. They were all waiting at the big maple 
tree half a mile beyond Mr. Stanton’s house, at the 
foot of the gentle rise. 

Hello, Bunny,” called S. S. You’re too late this 
morning to have a vote. We’ve decided to play 
' Duck-on-the-Rock.’ ” 

“ That suits me,” said Bunny happily. Where do 
we play ? ” 


76 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

Judge pointed to the top of the little hill. There’s 
an old stone fence up there where we can get all the 
rocks we want.” 

‘‘ Beat you to the top,” challenged Specs. 

The next instant the eight boys were racing wildly 
up the road. 

It was the first time Bunny had had a fair chance to 
match his speed with that of his new friends, and it 
pleased him to notice that his running was better than 
theirs. By the time he reached the spring that bub- 
bled into the horse-trough, he had caught Specs and 
Judge, while the others were pounding along in the 
rear, safely distanced. It was not easy, but he put 
on an extra spurt in his endeavor to pass the two by 
his side. Specs answered with a sprint of his own, 
but Judge, unable to accept the challenge, began drop- 
ping behind. The going was hard, but the two lead- 
ers maintained their pace, running even, stride for 
stride. 

The top of the rise was a bare fifty yards away, and 
Bunny was gathering his strength for a final burst of 
speed, when a sharp cry from S. S. halted him. He 
turned his head to look and immediately pulled him- 
self up. 

Fifteen yards behind them. Judge was stretched mo- 
tionless upon the road. 


77 


The Blow-Out 

By the time Bunny and Specs had sprinted back to 
the fallen patrol leader, S. S. had turned Judge over 
upon his back and was running quick fingers over his 
head for bruises or cuts. 

“ I tripped,” explained Judge after a minute or two. 

Hit my forehead when I came down.” Assisted by 
S. S. and Bi, he managed to stand upright, looking 
around dizzily. 

Want my First Aid Kit?” suggested Bunny. 

I’ve got it here in my pocket.” 

Judge shook his head. No, thanks. The skin’s 
not broken. But there’s an idea! I’m too shaken to 
play Duck-on-the-Rock now, so what’s the matter with 
a first aid race? Four of us can be laid out with 
broken legs, and the other four can chase out and get 
splints, and the one that ties up his man’s broken leg 
first can be patrol surgeon till next Saturday.” 

Roundy flopped down on a soft spread of grass. 
“ Let somebody else be patrol surgeon,” he said ; I’ve 
got a broken leg.” 

Judge sat down beside Roundy, with Specs next, and 
Handy fourth. Nap declared himself surgeon for 
Roundy; S. S. chose Specs; Bi picked out Handy; and 
Bunny was assigned to Judge. 

The patrol leader gave the final instructions. 
‘‘ We’re going to suppose,” he said, that the legs are 


78 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

broken between the knee and the ankle. Each of you 
fellows must find two splints and tie them on with 
handkerchiefs, or neckties, or whatever you can get. 
The first to finish will win. All ready ? Go ! 

The four started on even terms. Back of the road 
ran a broken-stranded barbed-wire fence; behind that 
stood a little grove ; just beyond was a deserted, tum- 
bled-down barn. Bunny and S. S. wriggled through 
the fence together, but Bi was delayed by a barb that 
caught his trousers. Nap, instead of trying to cross 
the fence at all, hurried away down the road. It was 
plain to Bunny that the race was to be run by S. S. 
and himself, and he was glad of it, because this would 
give him a chance to prove himself better than the 
best in the patrol? He knew he could outrun S. S., 
and he felt sure he could beat him at bandaging. 

He reached the grove slightly in the lead, and 
turned at once for the nearest dead tree. To his sur- 
prise, Specs and Bi did not stop, but ran on toward 
the old barn. Bunny chuckled to himself. They 
had not thought of dead branches as splints. Well, so 
much the worse for them! He broke off two slight 
limbs, and, trimming away the twigs as he ran, hus- 
tled back over the ground to his injured man. 

‘‘Good for you!” said Judge, as Bunny dropped 
his splints and pulled a piece of strong cord from his 


The Blow-Out 


79 

pocket. You^ll beat ’em all, even if you are only a 
tenderfoot.” 

Bunny’s heart warmed at the praise. He wanted to 
succeed in everything he undertook, and here was a 
chance, not only to succeed, but to win out splen- 
didly. 

He had just broken the branches to the proper 
length when Specs raised a protest. I object,” he 
said. “ Those splints are no good ; they’re not strong 
enough. If you ever used those on a regular broken 
leg, they’d crack sure, and make the fracture worse 
than ever.” 

Bunny had stopped his preparations for bandaging. 
He was surprised and hurt. Judge picked up one 
of the splints; it snapped between his fingers* He 
looked at Bunny, frowning. Have you read the 
scout laws — all of them?” he asked. 

Bunny stared in pained amazement. “ Of course.” 

Better read them again,” said Judge deliberately, 
rising to his feet. “ Because as a scout, I don’t think 
you’re quite as good as you think you are.” 

The words stung. But as Bunny stood there, not 
quite certain whether he would have to wink back a 
stray tear or two. Specs changed the subject by spring- 
ing to his feet with a loud ‘‘ Sa-a-a-ay ! ” 

It was a purring giant of a motor-car that topped 


8o Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

the crest of the hill just as S. S., Bi, and Nap reached 
their patients, splints in hand. 

It’s one of those Italian makes,” said S. S., quite 
forgetting the game at sight of the big black beauty. 

The boys stood silent in admiration. Even Bunny 
forgot his unpleasant thoughts long enough to notice 
the gray-haired man driving, the black-haired girl by 
his side, and, on the back seat, as if he were a pas- 
senger of honor, a little tan spaniel. 

If I had one of those cars,” began Specs softly, 
watching it whizz by; if I had one of — ” 

Bang!” 

The sound of the blow-out of the tire reached them 
at the same instant that the machine, swerving sud- 
denly from its course, crashed head-on into the trunk 
of the great maple. 

What followed seemed no more real to Bunny than 
a moving picture. He wanted to close his eyes or turn 
his head away, but he could do neither. Almost un- 
believing what he saw, he watched the whole accident 
from the initial crash into the tree to the final upset 
of the car. 

As the automobile bowled over grotesquely upon 
its side, a cloud of steam and dust hid for a moment 
all sight of the passengers. Then, as the patrol, like 
one man, started for the smash-up. Bunny perceived 


The Blow-Out 8i 

the white of the girl’s dress on the bank and a crum- 
pled, brown figure stirring feebly beside the tree. 

As they ran, Judge shouted directions. “ Handy, 
you look out for the machine. Bi and S. S., take the 
girl. Specs, you and I will handle the man. The 
rest of you, pitch in and help.” 

In spite of the horror of the accident. Bunny could 
but feel a thrill of pleasurable excitement in this dash 
to the rescue. He followed Handy, and, trembling a 
little at the danger of a possible explosion, helped him 
open the hood and disconnect the wires. Once the 
machine had been made safe, he turned to Judge and 
Specs, who, with the assistance of Nap, were trying 
to keep the man flat on his back. 

He’s dazed,” said Judge, as the victim of the ac- 
cident muttered incoherent words. “ Handy, help 
Nap keep his legs still. Bunny, you get some water 
from the spring.” 

The tenderfoot went, although not too willingly. 
Why had Judge not chosen him for expert assistance? 
The night before he had shown himself much quicker 
at first aid than S. S. Yet here he was now, not 
even allowed to be near those who needed help. But, 
following orders, he soaked his cap and handkerchief ^ 
in the water, filled the three folding cups that had been 
entrusted to him, and hurried back. By the time he 


82 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

returned, the man had become quiet. He was stand- 
ing, still dazed and stupid from the shock, with Judge 
on one side of him and Handy on the other. 

As Bunny brought the water, Bi came running up. 

IBs stopped. Judge,” he reported to the patrol leader. 
“ She isn’t conscious, but she’s all right. And the^ 
bleeding’s checked.” He explained rapidly to Bunny. 
“ An artery in her wrist was cut, but S. S. put on a 
tourniquet that stopped it like a flash. Bring over 
some of your water.” 

The girl was lying on the bank, breathing faintly, 
but otherwise without movement. Bunny had seen 
prettier girls than this one, with her snub nose, and 
her freckles showing so plainly on the white face, but 
he had never seen a girl that looked more attractive. 
She seemed the sort that would make a good chum; 
the jolly, outdoor kind that would not scream at a 
mouse or a tumble. He felt an anger welling in him 
that S. S., rather than himself, had been chosen to save 
her life. Judge hadn’t given him a square deal. 

Is there a telephone nearer than Stanton’s?” de- 
manded the patrol leader at this moment. 

Nobody answered. ‘‘ All right. Specs. You run 
to his house and ’phone for a doctor. Tell him to 
come there.” 

Specs raised his hand in salute. Putting his cap 



“ It’s stopped, Judge,” he reported to the patrol leader. 
“ She isn’t conscious, but she’s all right.” . Page 82. 






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The Blow-Out 


83 

in his pocket, he, started down the road at as high a 
speed as he could hope to maintain for the half-mile. 

Judge continued his directions. ‘‘ Nap, you and 
Handy and S. S. and Bi make a stretcher, and carry 
the girl. Roundy and I will take care of the man.’’ 

A quiver of disappointment shook Bunny. He was 
being left out of it all. In silence, he watched Handy 
commandeer a couple of stout staves and improvise a 
litter out of these and two buttoned coats. The four 
of them lifted the girl into place; then, in broken 
step, they started down the road after the others, bear- 
ing the litter between them. The man was now walk- 
ing without much difficulty and seemed almost himself 
again. 

What do you want me to do? ” Bunny called after 
Judge. 

The older boy looked puzzled. Why I — I don’t 
know. You might keep your eye on, the machine, or 
— here, find the dog. Look after him.” 

As he watched the six boys trudge slowly down the 
dusty road, there was bitterness in Bunny’s heart. 
He was just as clever as S. S., but because he was a 
tenderfoot, they trusted him with nothing to look 
after save a no-account dog. It wasn’t fair. Any- 
how, he didn’t want to stay behind; he wanted to be 
with the fellows. 


84 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

He looked about him with a sigh. There was no 
trace of the dog. He searched carefully near the ma- 
chine, thinking the animal might have been crushed 
in the breakage. Then he went into the field by the 
roadside, whistling and calling. Still there was no 
sign of the dog. In his impatience, he was about to 
start down the road when a patch of tan fur at the 
top of the bank caught his eye. 

It was the little spaniel, not dead, but so stunned 
and weakened that he seemed barely alive. He was 
licking a long, oozing cut along his hind leg, each time 
moving his head with what seemed an enormous ef- 
fort. 

For a moment, as Bunny stared at the poor crea- 
ture, he was tempted to undo his Red Cross kit and 
tie up the wound as if the dog were a human being. 
But a second thought convinced him this would mean 
useless delay. So he carried the animal to the spring, 
washed off the wound, and tied it with his handker- 
chief, securing the bandage with his necktie. Once 
more he took the spaniel in his two arms. 

The half-mile to the Stanton house seemed more 
nearly a ^ full mile before he covered it,, to be greeted 
by S. S. at the gate. S. S. was fairly bubbling with 
good humor. 

“ Say, Bunny, the doctor’s here, and he said we 


The Blow-Out 


85 

saved her life, and he said the tourniquet I put on her 
arm was as good a one as he could have put on him- 
self ; and her father owns a big newspaper in Elkana, 
and he’s going to give me a medal, and he’s going to 
give another medal every year to the fellow in this 
patrol that’s best at first aid.” 

It was not fair, Bunny reflected. He should have 
had this chance instead of S. S. He carried the 
spaniel into the hall, where the gray-haired man, Mr. 
Stanton, Doctor Quigley, and Judge were gathered. 

'' Here’s Leader,” cried the gray-haired man de- 
lightedly, and would have jumped from his chair if 
the doctor had not warned him back. ‘‘ Molly will 
be tickled to pieces to see him.” 

Leader’s tail wagged faintly. The doctor took the 
dog from Bunny’s arms. It seems to me you are all 
first aid people,” he said smilingly. Then he turned 
to Bunny. It’s a pity you didn’t have one of those 
first aid pocket outfits. You see, when a wound isn’t 
bleeding much, it’s better to leave it exposed than to 
tie it up^ith a handkerchief or anything of that sort. 
Too much danger of infection if you do. But you’ll 
know next time,” he finished encouragingly. 

Humiliated and angry. Bunny somehow stumbled 
out into the sunshine. Judge followed him. 

'' Look here^ Bunny,” said the patrol leader, placing 


86 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

a friendly hand on the boy’s shoulder ; “ you’re doing 
one thing wrong, and you want to find out what it is 
before you go any further. You’re breaking the very 
first of the scout laws, just as Roundy did that night 
on Shadow Island when he skimped the job of making 
fast the launch. You’re not trustworthy. Oh, I 
know you wouldn’t lie or steal or anything of that 
sort, but you do slipshod work in little things. You’re 
in such a hurry to get through, that you don’t do things 
thoroughly. That may be all right in a fifty-yard 
dash, but it won’t work in first aid. Why, I couldn’t 
have trusted you to make a tourniquet for the girl 
back there; you’d have done it in a hurry, but you 
might have overlooked something. S. S. did it — ” 

‘‘ I beat him in the practice last night,” Bunny pro- 
tested. 

‘'In time, yes; you finished ’way ahead of him. 
But his work was' all right, and yours was all wrong. 
The fellows didn’t want to hurt your feelings, because 
you were a tenderfoot, but I think we were wrong; 
that’s why I’m telling you now. If you’re not 
thorough, you’re not trustworthy. But you can be 
both, if you want to try.” 

Just before meal-time that noon, strange and un- 
expected sounds brought Mrs. Sawyer to the front 
porch. Bunny was sweeping industriously. His aunt 


The Blow-Out 


87 

raised her eyebrows in amazement. Then she looked 
behind the lawn seat. For the first time since the boy 
had accepted the task of keeping clean the porch, that 
section of the floor was thoroughly, scrupulously 
swept. Five more corners she examined; they, too, 
were free of dust. Amazed, she turned from one 
cranny to another. Every spot was immaculate. 

“ George Payton,” she said, ‘‘what does this mean? 
Has Mr. Stanton drafted a new law about porch- 
sweeping? ” 

“ No, ma’am,” responded Bunny, grinning a little 
sheepishly. “ He doesn’t have to, I guess. It comes 
under one of the other laws that I — I didn’t quite un- 
derstand.” Then he stood up very straight, facing 
her. “ Aunt Emma,” he said, “ next year they’re go- 
ing to give a medal to the fellow that’s best at first aid 
— the quickest, you know, and the most thorough and 
trustworthy — and I’m going to get it.” 

“ I’m inclined to think,” admitted his aunt, looking 
at the spotless porch, “ that you will, George.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


POM-POM-PULLAWAY 

In the big open lot back of Grogan’s hardware store, 
the scouts of the Black Eagle Patrol were about to 
begin a game of pom-pom-pullaway.” Seven of 
them already waited impatiently on a line near the 
Main Street side; when Mr. Stanton called to him from 
the sidewalk, the eighth, Judge Lloyd, was just turn- 
ing to face them in the middle of the field. 

Coming, sir,” answered the patrol leader obedi- 
ently, walking from his position. 

Mr. Stanton’s keen eyes took in the situation at a 
glance. “ I want to talk to you. Judge, but I don’t 
want to break up the game. Suppose one of you other 
fellows ‘ stand ’ in his place.” 

Nobody stirred. Being “ it ” in this game was any- 
thing but an honor. Usually the selection of the un- 
lucky stander ” was attended with considerable cere- 
mony, based upon some variation of the ‘‘ eenie- 
meenie-minie-mo ” method of hitting upon the unfor- 
tunate. It was with no little comfort, therefore, that 


Pom-Pom-Pullaway 89 

the others presently saw Bunny step forward and heard 
him say: 'Til be 'if in Judge’s place.” 

Only Bi objected. " You’re too little,” he growled, 
" and too light. You couldn’t stop me in a thousand 
years.” 

" Oh, he’s all right,” called the patrol leader from 
his perch on the fence, where he and Mr. Stanton 
had democratically seated themselves. " Start your 
game.” 

The scout master turned to the boy at his side. 
" Judge,” he began, " I’ve been talking with Mr. 
Sefton, the man who was thrown from the automobile 
yesterday. He’s very grateful, naturally. I suppose 
you know he owns the largest newspaper in Elkana ? ” 

"Does he?” asked Judge carelessly, watching Bi 
break loose from little Bunny out in the field. 
" Maybe he’ll tell his editor to write something in it 
about us.” 

" Yes, he intends to. He is very much interested in 
Boy Scouts, particularly after he saw your patrol at 
work yesterday and learned something about the fel- 
lows in it. He has decided to devote a column every 
day in his paper to news about the Boy Scouts of this 
State.” 

" Good for him ! ” 

" But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” 


90 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle * Patrol 

confessed Mr. Stanton. Sefton is looking ahead. 
He believes his paper can double the number of pa- 
trols and troops in this section by creating a little com- 
petition among the boys. So he is going to announce 
a prize tournament, to be held next summer, for the 
purpose of determining the champion patrol of the 
State. The prize is to be a trip, all expenses paid 
by the paper, to the National Headquarters of the 
Boy Scouts of America, in New York City.” 

Judge slid slowly from the fence to the ground. 
The corners of his mouth twitched and turned up. 
From the tip of his chin to the top of his forehead, his 
face wrinkled into a beaming smile. 

We’ll win that prize,” he announced flatly. 

Fm afraid,” said the scout master gently, ‘^that we 
can’t. It’s as impossible — ” 

From the field came an interruption. 

‘‘ Pom-poni-pullaway ! ” shouted Bunny. Come 
away, or I’ll fetch you away! ” 

On the heels of the challenge, the six scouts ran 
toward him, scattering to right and left as they came 
near. But Bunny had eyes for only one; he sprinted 
to the dodging Bi, held him for just an instant, and 
then felt his captive jerk free. 

“ — as impossible,” the scout master concluded, as 
it is to catch and hold Bi out there.” 


^ Pom-Pom-Pullaway 91 

But I want the Black Eagle Patrol to win/’ said 
Judge stubbornly. 

And Bunny wants to catch and hold Bi, too,” re- 
minded Mr. Stanton ; but wanting a thing very much 
doesn’t always get it for you.” 

“ Why couldn’t we win? ” 

“ There are many reasons, Judge. A baseball game 
is to be one of the features of the meet, with the patrol 
allowed as a ninth player some boy being trained for 
tenderfoot.” 

‘‘ And the Black Eagles haven’t a recruit in sight. 
What else? ” 

** There will be field and track events.” 

“ I see. And we haven’t any gymnasium to prac- 
tice in, or any track to run over. Go on.” 

“As a patrol, we are not very good at scoutcraft. 
Some of the members are good at certain things, but 
lamentably weak at others. The average is discour- 
agingly low.” 

Judge nodded without speaking. Out in the field, 
Bunny called loudly : “ Pom-pom-pullaway ! Come 

away, or Pll fetch you away ! ” And when they 
dashed out at him, each intent upon passing safely to 
the opposite goal, he lunged at Bi, who pulled loose 
with scarcely an effort. Judge frowned a little at the 
sight. 


92 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

But there must be a way out,” he said presently. 

It’s a long time till the tournament.” 

‘‘ Pom-pom-pullaway ! Come away or I’ll fetch you 
away ! ” shouted Bunny. 

“ He’s plucky,” admitted Mr. Stanton, ‘‘ but Bi will 
be running back and forth till they’re all ready to 
quit.” 

Again the six scouts left the line under full speed, 
running straight forward till they were almost upon 
the “ stander ” before swerving away from him. 

'' Look! ” urged Judge excitedly. ‘‘ Bunny’s found 
the way now, and in two minutes by the clock Mister 
Biceps Jones will be caught. Watch!” 

As the boys passed him this time. Bunny paid no 
attention to Bi; instead, he swooped down upon the 
startled S. S., whp proved an easy victim. 

Pom-pom-pullaway ! Come away, or I’ll fetch 
you away ! ” called these two in chorus. 

Specs, who was fast and slippery and who usually 
managed to evade a single captor, fell before the double 
onslaught of Bunny and S. S. These three, combining, 
stopped Handy with neatness and dispatch ; then, with 
his assistance, Nap. This left only Roundy and Bi 
on the goal line. 

Roundy moved slowly, but as he ran, he gathered a 
momentum that made his capture a matter best handled 


Pom-Pom-Pullaway 93 

by several boys. Bunny could never have held him 
alone; Bunny and S. S. could not have done it to- 
gether; Bunny and S. S. and Specs probably could 
not; it is doubtful, indeed, if Bunny and S. S. and 
Specs and Handy could have been certain of bringing 
him to a standstill. But with Nap added, the odds 
were overwhelming, and the fat boy offered little re- 
sistance. 

Then the six of them pounced upon the mighty Bi, 
who was caught and held quite as easily as any of the 
others had been. 

‘‘ There ! ” chortled Judge. Did you see that, sir? 
Well, that’s how we’re going to win the prize next 
summer.” 

Playing pom-pom-pullaway ? ” 

Oh, you know what I mean, sir. Remember San- 
ford Anvers, the rich kid we tried to get to join us 
last year? You talked to him once — alone; Buck 
argued with him once — alone ; I tried to impress him 
once — alone. What we should have done was to go 
after him in a bunch, tuck him under our wing, and 
take him on a hike to show him what scouting really 
was. We’ll get him yet. Put him down for an out- 
field position on the ball team, Mr. Stanton.” 

The scout master nodded, smiling. 

We' haven’t a gymnasium or a running track be- 


94 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

cause you can’t build or give the patrol either one, 
and I can’t, and he can’t.” Judge was pointing 
vaguely toward the scouts in the vacant lot, but Mr. 
Stanton understood. “If we’d all pull together, we 
could build both. A cinder track’s no great trick to 
lay out, and some scouts over in Pennsylvania have 
built themselves a dandy log cabin, big enough for 
club-house and gymnasium and everything else.” 

“ I believe you’re right. Judge.” 

“ I know I am, sir. And we can help each other 
in the patrol more than we have been doing. Bi’s an 
expert at making fires; he can teach Bunny and the 
other bunglers, who usually burn their fingers without 
starting anything blazing. But Bunny knows more 
baseball in a minute than most of the fellows would 
in a cat’s nine lifetimes; he can explain the ‘inside 
stuff ’ to them. Then there’s S. S., with his first aid 
stunts; and Handy, with his tools and his campcraft; 
and Roundy, with about forty-’ leven strokes in swim- 
ming; and Nap, with all sorts of ideas about patriotism 
and citizenship; and so on. Well, just let each fellow 
teach some other fellow the thing he knows best, and 
let those two teach a third, and those three — Under- 
stand? How long would it be before the Black Eagle 
Patrol was as good as any in the State ? ” 

“ Not long,” admitted Mr. Stanton. “ You’ve hit 


95 


Pom-Pom-Pullaway 

the nail on the head, Judge. We must cooperate 
more ; we must pull together better than we have been 
doing. I can’t win that prize next summer, and you 
can’t, and ” — the scout master smiled as he pointed 
generally — ‘‘ he can’t. But if you and he and I all 
get together and say — ” 

“ Pom-pom-pullaway ! Come away, or I’ll fetch 
you away ! ” It was a shout from the game in the lot. 
— '"then,” he concluded, nodding over the contribu- 
tion to his sentence, " then we may win.” 


CHAPTER IX 


THE MAN IN THE ALLEY 

After leaving Specs, Bunny walked slowly toward 
the street lamp in the middle of the block, which 
marked the entrance to an alley that led past the back- 
yard of his uncle’s house. When he was tired, he 
usually took advantage of this short cut, and there 
could be no denying his weariness to-night. The 
Black Eagle Patrol had hiked far out into the coun- 
try during the afternoon, cooked supper in the twi- 
light, and tramped home afterwards. 

As Bunny swung off the main street, somebody came 
running up the alley. The boy dodged quickly to one 
side, that the other might have a clear path, but un- 
luckily the runner dodged in the same direction. They 
came together with a thud. 

Both staggered back from the shock of the collision. 
The man — Bunny could see him distinctly as the 
street lamp shone full upon his face — tottered un- 
certainly on his heels, half-turned his head toward the 
alley behind him, stared sharply for a second or two 


97 


The Man in the Alley 

at the boy, and then shouldered his way past, all with- 
out uttering a single word. With puzzled eyes. Bunny 
watched him until he disappeared into the patch of 
darkness down the block. 

There was no light in his uncle’s house ; the family 
had evidently retired for the night. Bunny climbed 
the fence, and, dropping softly into the yard, tiptoed 
to the back door. This was never locked, for bur- 
glars were practically unknown in Lakeville. As the 
boy swung it inward with a cautious hand, hoping he 
might creep up-stairs and into bed without being heard, 
a protesting hinge creaked loudly. 

Is that you, George? ” asked his uncle’s voice. 

Yes, sir.” 

‘‘ Why didn’t you answer when I spoke to you a few 
minutes ago? ” 

Why, I — I just came in. Uncle.” 

‘‘ Oh! I was certain that — You are just getting 
home ? ” 

Yes, sir. You see, we were on a hike and — ” 

This is the first time this evening you have been 
in the house?” 

^'Yes, sir.” 

There followed a moment of silence. Then Mr. 
Sawyer grunted as if there were something he could 
not understand. After a bit, though, he said Good 


98 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

night,” and Bunny climbed wearily to his room. He 
felt he could sleep the clock around. 

He woke to a Babel of excited voices and was aston- 
ished to discover that it was morning again — broad 
daylight. After he had slipped into his clothes and 
hurried down-stairs, he learned the cause of all the 
clamor. During the night, the Sawyer house had been 
burglarized. All of the solid silver loiives and forks 
and spoons were gone. 

I knew I could not be mistaken,” his uncle told 
him grimly. “ I distinctly heard the door open before 
you came, and I called down, supposing it was you. 
That’s why I asked if you hadn’t been in the house 
before during the evening. The noise I heard was 
the burglar.” 

Bunny bolted his breakfast and swept into the out- 
doors. He felt, somehow, as if the night prowler 
had conferred an honor upon his uncle’s house and 
upon him, by selecting it as the scene of his crime. 
Nothing like this had ever happened to the house in 
which the other fellows lived. 

But Specs toppled his air-castle. ‘‘ Huh ! ” he said, 
after he had listened to the story with flattering at- 
tention. Huh ! Didn’t your uncle say he heard the 
burglar before you got home? Well, then, I don’t see 
anything for you\ to crow over. Of course, now, if 


The Man in the Alley 99 

the man had come while you were up-stairs, and you 
had heard him at work — 

The other scouts quite agreed with this view of the 
case. But they were interested, just the same, and 
they grew more so because of what happened a little 
later. 

First, a man named Jackson, who was suspected of 
being the burglar, was arrested and lodged in the town 
calaboose. At a preliminary hearing of some kind, 
he was held for trial. Second, the prisoner engaged 
as his counsel no other than Mr. Stanton, who had 
been such an enthusiastic scout master that people 
seemed to forget he was a promising young lawyer. 

The members of the Black Eagle Patrol were ex- 
cited enough now. For a day, they talked of nothing 
else; for a week, their conversations always swung 
around to a discussion of the case. But when a 
fortnight had passed, with no further progress in 
bringing the man to trial, they began to forget the 
whole thing. Other and more important matters 
claimed their attention; for summer was drawing to 
an end, and the first day of school was just around 
the corner. 

One morning about a week before the end of the 
summer vacation. Bunny dropped into Mr. Stanton’s 
office. “ I haven’t done my good turn to-day,” he 


100 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

confessed, ‘'and I thought maybe you could suggest 
one/^ A scout, of course, should do at least one good 
turn daily. 

“ I’m afraid I can’t,” the man answered. “I — 
The fact is, I wish somebody had the power to do me 
a good turn right now.” 

“ Let me,” said Bunny eagerly, “ please ! ” 

Mr. Stanton shook his head slowly. When he 
spoke, his voice lacked the fresh gladness if usually 
carried. “ It’s too big a problem for you — or for me, 
I guess. All I want is some way of defending suc- 
cessfully Jackson at the trial to-morrow.” 

“ Jackson ? The — the burglar ? ” 

“ The man who is accused of being a burglar,” cor- 
rected the lawyer quickly. “ He’s innocent. Bunny ; 
just as innocent as you and I are. They found a knife 
on him that your uncle owned. Jackson claims he 
picked it up in the street. That’s all the evidence they 
have against him, except that he’s been out of a job for 
a long time, but — Well, it may be enough to convict 
him. Bunny, do you remember the night of the bur- 
glary? ” 

“Of course. It was after that long hike we took 
out to Cottage Grove. That’s how it happened I 
wasn’t in the house when — he came. Uncle heard 
him.” 


•101 


The Man in the Alley 

“ Yes, I know,'’ returned Mr. Stanton. '' I’ve 
talked with your uncle. He can’t swear, of course, 
whether he heard Jackson or some other man. If 
somebody had only seen a stranger about town that 
night — 

Why, I did,” said Bunny suddenly, recalling the 
incident for the first time. “ I bumped into a fellow 
who was running out of the alley into Pine Street.” 

‘‘ You — what? ” Mr. Stanton was on his feet now, 
wide-eyed and staring. His cheeks were red, like a 
boy’s, and he was breathing very fast. 

I was turning into the alley to go home the back 
way,” explained Bunny, and a man I never saw be- 
fore came running out of the alley and bumped into 
me.” 

'' Did you get a good look at him ? Was it light 
enough to see his face ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” answered Bunny to both questions. 
'' He was about six feet tall, with a little cap on his 
head, a long nose, black hair — ” 

Jackson’s almost as blond as an Albino,” 
chuckled the lawyer. I don’t just know how your 
evidence will impress a jury, especially as we can’t 
prove absolutely that this long-nosed man was the real 
burglar, but I’ll make the most of it. I want to win 
this case, Bunny Payton, because it’s the first real one 


102 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

Tve had, and I need a reputation. You tell your 
uncle to be sure and take you over to the court-house 
at Dunkirk to-morrow.’’ 

So it came about that the following morning Bunny 
sat in the trial room at the county seat, and watched 
and listened while a jury was drawn, and the first wit- 
nesses in tlie case were examined. He had never been 
present at a trial before, and he found much to in- 
terest and impress him. If it were not for — 

He heard his own name called. All at once he was 
afraid; it seemed to him he could never face this curi- 
ous crowd, could never answer intelligently the ques- 
tions the district attorney was sure to snap at him. 
But with lips pressed close together, with hands 
clenched, he marched steadily up the aisle, back of the 
jury box, and over to the witness chair. There the 
clerk of the court held out a Bible. 

You understand the nature of an oath, do you? ” 
he was asked; and, when he said he did, he repeated 
after the clerk the solemn promise to tell the truth, the 
whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Then, after 
he had given his name and address, the clerk waved 
him to the chair. 

Mr. Stanton smiled reassuringly toward him. 

‘‘Your name is Bun — that is, George Payton?” 
he asked. 


103 


The Man in the Alley 

‘‘ Yes, sir/’ 

“ And you live with your uncle, Mr. Henry Sawyer, 
of Lakeville?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

The lawyer turned to one side and made a request. 
Somebody rose slowly to his feet. 

George,” said Mr. Stanton, smiling a little over 
the unfamiliar name, have you ever seen this man 
before? ” 

The boy looked searchingly at the person who had 
been pointed out. He knew instinctively that this 
must be Jackson, the prisoner, and a tiny fear that had 
been licking at his heart choked out. The man who 
had bumped him at the end of the alley that night was 
not Jackson. 

No, sir,” he said positively, I never saw him be- 
fore in all my life.” 

Then Mr. Stanton, by a series of questions, made it 
clear to the jury that the witness had been away from 
his home during the early hours of the night of the 
burglary, that he had reached the house late, and that 
as he went home he had met a man running through 
the alley. In the course of the trial, Mr. Stanton ex- 
pected to have Bunny’s uncle tell of the noise that had 
awakened him a few minutes before the boy came in, 
thus establishing circumstantial evidence, at least, that 


104 Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

the man he heard down-stairs and the man Bunny met 
in the alley were one and the same — and not Jackson, 
who was being tried for the crime. 

“Did you see this man in the alley distinctly?” 
asked Mr. Stanton. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Describe him to the jury.” 

So Bunny began his minute description. He told 
the kind of coat the man wore; the kind of tie, collar, 
cap. He mentioned the long nose, the scar on one 
cheek, the black hair, the irregular and discolored teeth. 
Once, as he was pausing to fix a detail in his memory, 
he saw the district attorney smiling queerly. This was 
because Jackson had a nose inclined to turn up, a 
smooth cheek, light hair, and very even white teeth. 
The district attorney thought the boy had been coached 
to describe somebody who looked as little like Jackson 
as possible, or that he was doing it unconsciously, prob- 
ably because of sympathy. But Mr. Stanton knew bet- 
ter. 

“ You may have the witness, Mr. Kline,” he said, 
after Bunny had completed his word-picture of the 
man. 

District Attorney Kline rose to his feet. He walked 
back and forth a minute before he spoke. Then, 
abruptly, he faced the boy. 


The Man in the Alley 105 

‘‘ How long did you have to study this man in the 
alley?’’ 

A few seconds — maybe five.” 

Five seconds — or less ! And you mean to tell us 
you remember all you have described after looking at 
him only that long?” 

‘‘Yes, sir.” 

“ Indeed ! ” The district attorney smiled under- 
standingly upon the jury, quite as if further comment 
would be superfluous. “ Ah, yes ! I — I think that 
will be all.” And he sat down, still smiling sarcas- 
tically. Even Bunny, squirming in the witness chair, 
realized the man had scored heavily. But Mr. Stanton 
was not yet through. 

“ Could you remember as much after looking at any- 
body for a few seconds — say, some person in this 
court-room? ” 

“ I think I could.” 

Mr. Stanton turned toward the back of the room. 
In the last row, practically hidden by those in front of 
her, was a little girl. 

“ Will you ask that little girl to stand up? ” he said 
to the court officer. “ Thank you. Now, George, 
please study her while I count. One — two — three 
— four — five. Sit down, little girl. George, tell us 
how s»he looked.” 


io6 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

She has brown hair/’ said the boy readily. It’s 
combed back tight over one ear and is straggly over 
the other. Her ears are pretty large. Her dress is 
green, with a stained place in front. She has a snub 
nose. Her face is a little dirty. She was too far away 
to see her eyes, and she kept her mouth shut so I 
couldn’t see her teeth.” 

Something very like a wave of applause rippled 
over the court-room, which was promptly stifled by the 
pounding of a gavel. The description had been re- 
markably accurate. 

Now,” encouraged Mr. Stanton, ‘‘ tell the jury 
just how you manage to note all the details so quickly.” 

I trained myself to do it,” the boy explained. ‘‘ I 
am a Boy Scout, Number 8 of the Black Eagle Patrol, 
over in Lakeville. I learned to observe closely from 
playing ^ Kim’s Game ’ and ‘ Morgan’s Game ’ and 
‘ Shop Window.’ In Shop Window we go past five 
or six stores in town, stopping a few seconds to study 
the windows of each, and then we write out what we 
saw in any one the umpire picks out — say, the third, 
or the fifth.” He paused to smile reminiscently at Mr. 
Stanton. The first time I played the game,” he con- 
fessed, I couldn’t remember whether the third win- 
dow was Grogan’s hardware store or Sherer’s meat 
market. For a long time I was the worst in the whole 


107 


The Man in the Alley 

patrol. But it made me mad to be licked by every- 
body else, and I began practicing alone all the time, 
on windows, and the things on desks and tables, and 
people. And — well, I do it pretty well now.’' 

He said this last weakly, but the jury sensed some- 
thing of the stubborn and almost interminable struggle 
that had preceded his mastery of the art. 

Mr. Stanton placed a newspaper over the long table 
before which he was standing. Taking from his 
pocket a number of articles, he slipped them under it. 
Then, after calling the witness’ attention, he whisked 
off the paper, allowing the boy to see what lay under it 
for only a second or two, when he promptly covered 
the articles again. 

Tell us,” he said, what you saw on the table.” 

Bunny enumerated seven things, ranging from a coin 
to a bunch of keys. So far as the jury was concerned, 
the test was wholly successful. But the district at- 
torney declined to give up without further proof. 
When Mr. Stanton again turned the witness over to 
him, the prosecutor asked : — 

You are quite sure you never saw that little girl 
before to-day?” 

I don’t remember her.” 

'‘Humph! Suppose we try another test. Let me 
see.” He scanned the court-room with keen eyes. 


io8 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

There ! Will the gentleman in the third row from 
the back, last seat, kindly stand up.” 

Nobody stirred. 

I mean the man who is hunched down in his seat. 
Officer,, ask him to stand up.” 

The court officer touched the man on the shoulder. 
Still there was no response. It was not until the man 
had been jerked sharply that he slouched to a standing 
posture. 

“Now, witness, look at that person while I count 
five. Ready? One — ” 

Bunny fixed his eyes on the man, checking off the 
points in his mind. The fellow had black hair and — 
- two — ” 

— a long nose — 

“•—three—” 

— and a scar on one cheek — 

four—” 

— and irregular and discolored teeth. 

“ — five! Sit down, my good man. Now, boy, de- 
scribe him.” 

“ I did once to-day,” said Bunny. His voice was 
high-pitched and shrill. “ I did. He — he’s the man 
who bumped into me in the alley the night uncle’s house 
was robbed.” 

Just what happened next, Bunny never knew clearly. 


The Man in the Alley 109 

There was a commotion of some kind in the back of 
the room, a brief scuffle, a shout or two, and then a 
long silence, broken only by hurried whispers between 
the lawyers and the judge. Finally, somebody seemed 
to remember the boy who had been testifying, and an 
attendant led him from the witness chair, whispering 
that court stood adjourned till one o’clock that after- 
noon. 

He ate dinner at the hotel with his uncle, who re- 
fused to discuss the case in any way. Two or three 
other diners nodded to the boy, and pointed him out 
to friends. And then, at one o’clock, he was back in 
the court-room once more. 

He did not fully understand the legal proceedings 
that followed. Afterward, though, Mr. Stanton ex- 
plained to him that the man he had pointed out in 
court as the one who ran into him the night of the 
crime was really the guilty burglar, and had confessed 
during the noon hour; and that his client, Jackson, had 
thus been freed by due process of law. 

So it seemed everybody was glad he had learned 
enough scoutcraft to be useful, except possibly the 
criminal now under lock and key. His uncle put an 
arm around his shoulders and said he gave promise 
of being a “ chip of the old block,” whatever that 
meant; and Jackson wrung his hand, and thanked 


no Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

him, and promised to stick faithfully to a job that had 
been promised and thus escape the suspicion under 
which people with no visible means of support are lia- 
ble to fall; and the district attorney actually apolo- 
gized, exactly like any ordinary mortal, for having 
doubted him, and said he wanted his boy to see about 
getting up a patrol of Boy Scouts in Dunkirk; and 
Mr. Stanton — well. Scout Master Stanton just looked 
at him, with a twinkle in his eyes, and remarked hapr 
pily : 

Remember what you dropped into my office to see 
me about yesterday. Bunny? Well, you have done 
your good turn to-day.’" 


CHAPTER X 


KNOTS IN THE NECKTIES 

It was about this time that the knot-in-the-necktie 
habit struck the Black Eagle Patrol. Judge intro- 
duced it, and when Specs questioned him about it, ex- 
plained : It’s a regular scout way of refnembering 

you haven’t done your good turn yet. After you’ve 
done your daily good turn, you can untie the knot.” 

Within a week, the entire patrol was diligently knot- 
ting its ties each morning, with the single exception 
of S. S. His spick and span nature forbade the rump- 
ling of his precious neckwear; so each morning he 
avoided it by the very simple kindness of gathering 
chips for the cook before he donned his tie. 

The most noticeable result of the habit was that, for 
the first time, every member began to obey the law to 
the letter. No longer were there exceptions that 
proved the rule. Without fail, each boy did his good 
turn before going to bed. 

There was more of this good turn thing than the 
scouts imagined. As Mr. Stanton pointed out, you 


112 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

couldn’t very well be conscientious about doing a good 
turn without being also trustworthy and loyal and help- 
ful and friendly and kind — and all the other things 
that scouts were supposed to be. 

Specs was genuinely grieved when he told Bunny of 
his failure to live up to the law the day before. 

“ You see,” he said, we had company for supper, 
and I couldn’t get away till they were gone. Then, 
just when I was starting out to find something to do, 
I happened to sneeze, and my mother thought I was 
catching cold and put me straight to bed. She 
wouldn’t even let me out of the house for fifteen min- 
utes,” he added gloomily. 

Bunny meditated. Why don’t you get your good 
turn done earlier in the morning?” he asked finally. 

Why do you always wait around till the very last 
minute ? ” 

Specs became silent. His face assumed an air of 
deep mystery. 

'*'Why?” Bunny urged. 

That’s for me to know and you to find out,” 
grinned Specs; and the last bell, which sent all strag- 
glers rushing into the schoolhouse, forbade further 
questions. 

I wonder what Specs is up to,” Bunny confided to 
Handy at recess. “ Every noon he runs home and 


Knots in the Neckties 113 

finishes dinner as soon as he can, and then you don’t 
see him again till the bell rings. I’m sure it has some- 
thing to do with his good turn.” 

''Why don’t you follow him?” 

Bunny hesitated. " Would that be quite square to 
Specs ? ” 

"He told you to find out, didn’t he?” laughed 
Handy. 

Sure enough, not only Specs’ words, but his very 
tone had been a challenge; and Bunny, after a little 
thought, made up his mind that it would be altogether 
fair and aboveboard to investigate. 

That noon, therefore, he devoured his own dinner 
in such haste that his aunt and uncle wondered. Then 
he ran at top speed to the band-stand in the little park, 
arriving there only in time to hide before Specs ap- 
peared. 

The latter’s necktie was still knotted in a large, un- 
tidy bunch. He walked slowly, as if looking for some- 
body who might pop out at any moment. Bunny 
watched curiously as he climbed the little flight of 
steps leading to the Merchants’ National Bank and 
peeked in through the glass doors. Evidently he was 
disappointed, for he turned down Wood Street to the 
public library. Bunny now emerged from the shadow 
of the band-stand, and, hiding himself behind a 


114 Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

friendly telephone pole, saw Specs repeat his perform- 
ance. This time he opened the door and walked into 
the library, emerging a little later with a set scowl. 

Something queer was on tap, and Bunny could not 
make it out. Following at a little distance, he ob- 
served Specs dart into the postoffice and out again, 
thence walking hurriedly down Maple Avenue to Wil- 
cox Street. Bunny trailed as closely as he dared, now 
hiding behind shade trees and now accepting the shel- 
ter of the corner of a house. 

Specs seemed to know exactly where he was going. 
Without hesitation, he walked past the corner of Oak 
and Wilcox and on to the middle of the next block. 
There he stopped in front of the residence of Mr. Al- 
bertson. Bunny watched him parade slowly *up and 
down the sidewalk, his hand occasionally touching the 
iron fence. At last, as though tired of this sentry 
duty, he leaned on the gate. 

While Bunny stared, thoroughly puzzled as to the 
meaning of this strange behavior, the door of the 
house opened, and the red- faced cook appeared. 

Boy,’’ she called out in a sharp voice, ‘‘ you get 
off that gate. Mr. Albertson told you to go away 
once already. You’re up to some mischief or other. 
You scoot!” 

At this. Specs slowly took his elbows from the gate, 


Knots in the Neckties 115 

and, with head sunk and whistling gloomily, started 
back up the street. Bunny darted from behind a 
hedge to meet him. 

Were you doing the cook back there a good turn 
by getting off the gate? ’’ Bunny asked. 

For a long moment Specs frowned, but under the 
necessity of the scout law to be cheerful, he managed 
a smile. 

“ Never you mind,” he said. ‘‘ I know what Fm 
doing; and it’s not as foolish as you might think. Fll 
tell you all about it at the meeting to-night.” 

Nor could any other member of the patrol get a word 
out of him until they gathered that evening in Mr. 
Stanton’s law offices, which was their regular meeting 
place. Even then, it was not until the routine busi- 
ness had been disposed of that Specs took the 
floor. 

“ I think,” he began confidently, “ that we waste a 
lot of energy in this good turn business. It strikes me 
we ought to try to do good turns to people who can 
appreciate them.” 

"‘What do you mean?” asked Mr. Stanton. 

“ Well ! ” Specs turned to the scout master a little 
embarrassed. “ I mean this. Why not do good turns 
for people who can do good turns for us? We all 
know we would like regular uniforms for our hikes. 


ii6 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

at least. Now, if one of us could do a good turn for 
somebody able to buy them for us — ’’ 

Wait a minute,” interrupted Mr. Stanton. Don’t 
you know that a scout isn’t allowed to receive anything 
for the good turns he does ? ” 

Specs nodded. ‘‘ I know that, of course. But if 
somebody gets interested in the patrol because of a 
good turn one of the fellows does him, there isn’t any- 
thing in the laws to keep him from giving the patrol a 
present.” He looked around triumphantly. “ Well, 
that’s what I’ve been trying to do. Mr. Albertson 
used to be a contractor over in Elkana. He’s got a 
lot of money. Now, I’m just waiting for a chance to 
do him a good turn, and when — ” 

A roar of laughter stopped him. He flushed angrily 
as he faced his fellow scouts. All right ! All 
right ! Laugh your heads off. But you just wait and 
see.” 

There was no arguing Specs from his position. He 
went home that night as convinced as ever that he 
was working along the right lines. Nor did his failure 
the next day, nor the next, in any way discourage him. 
For a week, moreover, he spent his spare time lurking 
in spots where he felt he might expect to be in a posi- 
tion to help the retired contractor, provided, of course, 
Mr. Albertson showed any signs of needing help. But 


Knots in the Neckties 117 

it was not till a fortnight after the meeting that the 
opportunity came his way, and then things turned out 
as no one could have foreseen. 

All Thursday and Friday morning had been so full 
of rain that at noon Friday a feeble sun was doing 
very little toward drying up the mud puddles. As 
usual, Specs had hurried through his dinner and begun 
his search for the rich man, without any particular 
idea that he would really see him, when he blundered 
full upon Mr. Albertson. The latter, limping from 
his rheumatism, had a cane in each hand. It was the 
chance that had crowned Specs’ every dream. 

Quite without thought of his own clothes, he 
splashed through the mire to the edge of the curbing 
where Mr. Albertson stood, apparently in doubt as to 
attempting the trip across the street. 

Specs touched his cap politely. “ Shall I help you 
across, sir?” 

The man frowned upon him. It was a frown to 
chill the stoutest heart. 

1 — I’m a Boy Scout,” Specs faltered, not know- 
ing what to make of this reception, “ and every Boy 
Scout has to do a good turn every day, and I — I 
thought — ” 

“ Well, you thought wrong,” snapped Mr. Albert- 
son as a twinge of rheumatism ran up his leg like a 


li8 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

knife. “ Fm able to get across the street without 
help. Go away ! ’’ 

It was a piece of unmerited and unnecessary rude- 
ness, for which the man was sorry a moment after- 
ward. But it crushed Specs utterly. He could not 
even think of a retort, much less utter one. Thor- 
oughly humiliated, he turned away, his one impulse 
being to get out of sight somewhere. 

But just as he wheeled about, the appearance of a 
little old lady, poorly dressed and carrying a heavy, 
covered basket, brought him back to his better self. 

“ Let me help you with the basket,” he said. 

I wish you would.” The little old lady smiled at 
him gratefully. “ Fm only going a couple of blocks 
farther.” 

Basket on his arm. Specs started across the street, 
with its owner following close behind. Mr. Albertson 
was still hesitating. But Specs had covered only half 
the distance to the opposite side of the road when an 
unexpected turn of affairs upset his plans. 

As he turned around to see if he could assist the 
little old lady with his arm, he was surprised and de- 
lighted to discover Mr. Albertson standing helpless in 
a most difficult position. He had started to cross the 
street alone, and was now some ten feet from the side- 
walk, in the middle of a muddy sea, with one of his 


Knots in the Neckties 119 

canes floating in a puddle. There he stood, unable to 
go forward or back, and equally unable to pick up the 
fallen cane. 

'' ril get it for you, sir,’’ shouted Specs; and, quite 
forgetting that you can do only one thing at a time, 
he set down the basket in the middle of the crossing 
and started toward Mr. Albertson. 

It was an unlucky move. He had barely put his 
hands on the fallen cane when a scream from the 
little old lady warned him that he had made a mis- 
take. 

Tearing around the corner burst a butcher’s deliv- 
ery wagon — driverless. The horse was splashing 
and galloping as if he were hauling a fire engine to an 
extra dangerous fire. But he did not run into the 
little old lady, as Specs feared for one breathless mo- 
ment he might. And it was not till the wagon ca- 
reened on down the street that the scout noticed the 
wheels had run over the basket, leaving it a mesh of 
splinters. 

Biting his lower lip. Specs stood like a statue, lis- 
tening to outbursts from both Mr. Albertson and the 
little old lady, and watching the yellow and white mix- 
ture that trickled from the shattered basket into the 
mud. Eggs ! The basket "had been filled with 'eggs ! 
Now it was filled with scraps of shell and sticky yolks. 


120 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

'' And they were all fresh eggs/’ moaned the little 
old lady; ‘‘ all fresh.” 

'' Yes, sir,” said Mr. Albertson, with a vigor which 
did not seem possible, all fresh eggs, and she was 
bringing them to my house — to me!” He took the 
cane Specs offered him and waved it angrily in the air. 

But, sir, I — ” 

The man did not hear him. Never mind, Mrs. 
Hofstetter,” he said. ‘‘ I won’t have these young ras- 
cals playing us tricks while I have anything to say 
about it. I’ll make him pay for every single egg that 
is broken. Yes, and for the basket, too,” he finished 
fiercely. ‘‘ Boy, what’s your name? ” 

Two weeks it took Specs to pay for the four and 
one half dozen eggs. He hurried through his dinner, 
just as he had done before the accident, but now only 
because he had entered into an arrangement with his 
father to earn the egg money by sawing the family 
wood. And as the old saw moved slowly back and 
forth. Specs began to see things more clearly. It grew 
plain to him why he had been breaking the spirit of 
the scout law in his attempts to help only those who 
might help the patrol. He saw, not only that it did 
not pay, but that in doing such a thing, he missed all 
the pleasure that came from a simple and courteous 
service, rendered wherever needed, with no thought of 


Knots in the Neckties 


121 


reward. In fact, it was a chastened and vastly im- 
proved Specs who attended a special meeting of the 
patrol some ten days after the egg catastrophe. 

“ Fve called you together,’' said Mr. Stanton, “ be- 
cause of a letter which I received this afternoon. It’s 
from one of the richest men of Elkana. He says he 
was in Lakeville a month ago, and wanted to find the 
library. He asked a boy the way, and the boy, instead 
of merely giving directions, walked with him till he 
was within sight of the building. Although his guide 
did not tell him, the man learned that he was a Boy 
Scout. He writes that he was so pleased with the 
chap’s modesty and unaffected courtesy that he wants 
to give the patrol twenty dollars, to spend as we see fit.” 

The patrol gave three noisy cheers. 

“Of course,” Mr. Stanton continued, “ I shall write 
to him that we do not expect presents for good turns, 
but that, if his gift is simply for the good of the cause, 
there is no reason why we cannot accept it. By the 
way, he said the boy who helped him wore spectacles.” 

Specs wriggled uncomfortably as the others turned 
to him, and Bi thumped him heartily on the back. 

“ I remember the day,” Specs said, “ only I never 
thought he was rich. His clothes were old. I sup- 
posed he was just a poor old fellow and — Say!” 
He became suddenly excited. “ Why, I never thought 


122 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

that was a gCK)d turn at all; it was the day I felt so 
bad because I thought I hadn’t done any good turn. 
You remember my telling you, Bunny.” 

It was voted to accept the present. Eight scout 
uniforms could be purchased for twenty dollars. 
After the meeting had adjourned, Specs hung around 
for a final word with Mr. Stanton. 

You know,” he said earnestly, I’m glad I helped 
that fellow out, but — it’s funny — but I wish he 
hadn’t given us any money for it.” 

Mr. Stanton patted the boy’s shoulder. 

Specs,” he said, “ you’ve learned the scout idea 
at last.” 


CHAPTER XI 

FRESH FISH 

Bunny sat waiting in the kitchen, a blue-checkered 
apron tied tightly under his arms. He looked at the 
clock, at the stove, and at the door. Then he shook 
his head impatiently. Roundy had promised to come 
promptly at four, and here it was a quarter past four 
already. If he delayed too long, Mrs. Sawyer would 
claim the kitchen as her own and begin to prepare 
supper. 

Testing with a spoon the yellowish mixture that 
filled a bowl on the table. Bunny decided the batter 
was too weak. He was just adding a little more of 
the self-raising flour when the back door opened, re- 
vealing Roundy on the threshold. 

It isn’t my fault. Bunny,” he began defensively. 

I told her that you didn’t want an audience, but she 
said she’d come anyhow, so — 

So here I am,” finished Molly Sefton, stepping 
boldly into the kitchen. ‘‘ Aren’t you glad to see me? 


124 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

Father wants me to stay here with the Weltons for a 
month or two. Isn’t that fine ? Go on and cook now. 
Roundy told me all about you.” 

“ What did you tell her?” demanded Bunny, while 
something inside him suggested that he had better hang 
on to his temper with both hands. 

Roundy squirmed and looked down at the floor. 

Well, I told her that you had qualified to become a 
second-class scout, according to Mr. Stanton, in every- 
thing but cooking and — ” 

‘‘ Go on,” said Bunny sternly. 

“ Well, and I told her I didn’t think you’d ever be 
a second-class scout, that’s all,” Roundy finished. 

Bunny set his teeth. I’m going to be a second- 
class scout in a day or two,” he said, ‘‘ and then I’m 
going right along and be a first-class scout. I’m learn- 
ing to cook for both tests. And I’m going to show 
you this afternoon that I can make griddle-cakes.” 
He walked over to the stove and lifted one of the lids 
to see how the fire was coming on. 

'‘Can you build a fire in the stove yet, Bunny?” 
Roundy winked at Molly. It was a standing joke in 
the patrol that when Bunny had joined them, he was 
not able to accomplish this simple feat of fire-making. 
“ I’ll tell you what to do. Bunny, if you ever get lost 
in the woods and want a fire in a hurry, just bore a 


Fresh Fish 125 

hole in a kerosene tree and pour the juice on some 
lighted sticks. Great ! 

It was with difficulty that Bunny retained his tem- 
per. Molly had begun to giggle, and he hated to have 
girls — especially girls he thought he might learn to 
like — laugh at him. Besides, in accordance with the 
new helpreach-other policy of the patrol, Bi had 
taught him as much about fire-making as he knew 
himself ; Roundy was here now to teach him the fine 
points of cooking. 

“ All right,' ’ he said, forcing a smile, you people 
laugh all you want to. But if you don’t behave, I’ll 
eat up all the griddle-cakes I make, without offering 
you a single one.” 

You’ll have to give me ten cents a cake if you ex- 
pect me to eat ’em,” retorted Roundy. 

This made ’Bunny forget himself to such an extent 
that he straightway slapped the griddle on the stove, 
and, without greasing it or waiting for it to heat, cov- 
ered it with a generous coating of the yellow batter. 

Roundy hugged himself with glee. Molly, after 
shoving the amateur cook out of the way, scraped the 
griddle clean, heated it, and gave it a coat of bacon 
grease. Then she thickened the batter and produced 
griddle-cakes of such lusciousness that Roundy de- 
clared he could eat them all night. 


126 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

Bunny watched proceedings in gloomy silence. He 
did not even try his skill again, and he had no answer 
to Molly’s taunt that she knew quite as much about 
woodcraft as he did and a great deal more about cook- 
ing. As a matter of fact, he found it hard work to 
hide his low spirits under an assumed cheerfulness. 

The matter of, cooking had begun to worry him so 
seriously, however, that he determined to take his 
trouble to the scout master himself. Roundy could 
help if Molly Sefton stayed away, but Molly promised 
to come for the next exhibition. 

‘‘ I don’t see why you are so discouraged,” said Mr. 
Stanton in some surprise. You don’t expect to be 
able to do everything all at once, do you? ” 

It’s not that,” Bunny said. ‘‘ But I’m not doing 
this cooking business any better than when I started. 
I can bake potatoes, of course, but I can’t seem to get 
the hang of meats and the like. I can’t even cook 
things on a regular stove, to say nothing of doing it in 
the open, without the ordinary kitchen utensils. Every 
time I try, something happens.” 

‘‘ But you are learning all the time.” 

‘‘ How can I be learning,” Bunny demanded, ‘‘ if 
I’m not improving a bit?” 

Mr. Stanton rose and looked squarely into the boy’s 
eyes. “ Bunny, there’s an old saying that we learn 


Fresh Fish 127 

to swim in winter and to skate in summer. That 
means that every time you try to do something — try 
hard — it has its effect on your brain cells. A fellow 
may try hard to swim all one summer, without seeming 
to go ahead a bit, but the next summer he’ll find him- 
self a hundred per cent, better. His trying has helped 
him. You mustn’t be impatient. You’re learning, 
even though you don’t think so. Keep on trying, and 
in the end you’ll not only be able to pass the cooking 
tests, but you’ll be a really good cook.” 

It was not hard to believe what the scout master 
said, but it was hard to put it into practice. Though 
apt at some things. Bunny had found that cooking, for 
some reason, was an almost insurmountable barrier. 
As he had told the scout master, something always 
happened. The thing he cooked was burned or un- 
derdone, without salt or with too much salt, too tough 
or falling to pieces — never just right. 

But Mr. Stanton had impressed upon him that pa- 
tient effort is bound to produce results. So day after 
day he tried his hand at cooking, although day after 
day he failed. The rest of the patrol scoffed good- 
naturedly; even Molly Sefton could not keep from 
poking fun at him. But still he practised. 

One Saturday about this time, a fishing excursion 
with Roundy and Specs fell through, and Bunny 


128 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

tramped off by himself, lunch-box slung on one side, 
his uncle’s creel on the other. From the angling 
standpoint, the day proved most profitable. He 
whipped up a trout stream on the other side of Bald 
Hill and from there crossed a patch of woods and a 
valley to a part of the country that was new to him. 
A bird with a strange coloring caught his eye, and he 
followed its tangled course through a second woods 
and out into a tiny clearing. 

So intent had he been upon the bird that not till it 
finally soared out of sight did he realize, not only that 
he had strayed far from his original path, but that he 
had no idea of the direction of this trail. He was in 
a section of hilly woodland, which, except for the size 
of the trees, might have been the “ forest primeval.” 
It was trackless and appalling. Nor were the streams 
a guide to civilization; for he knew that, instead of 
flowing into the lake, they made their way, by long 
and devious routes, to the Big Indian River, more than 
ten miles distant. 

He was lost. The knowledge brought him fear 
and fogged his brain. In a general way, he knew 
he was north of the village; if he traveled due south, 
he ought to run plump into it. But how was he to 
travel due south? By the time he had wound through 
a ravine and climbed a couple of irregular hills, he 


Fresh Fish 


129 

would be likely to find himself headed for the North 
Star. 

He was seized with an unreasonable panic. He 
wanted to throw down his fishing tackle and run madly 
— anywhere. He did start on a fast walk toward 
what he felt was the south. 

There is no explaining the terror of the person who 
is lost for the first time. Part of Bunny’s mind seemed 
to have taken fright, and galloped off and left him. 
A doubt gripped him. If you faced the east, was the 
south on your right hand or your left? He realized 
that this was a question so simple as to be ridiculous, 
yet for the life of him he could not answer. Right 
hand or left — he did not know. He was as com- 
pletely lost as any explorer in the heart of Africa. 

To crown his dismay, a sudden crackling in the 
brush, as if some large animal were coming toward 
him, made his heart jump and then beat furiously. 
The thing, whatever it was, crashed nearer and nearer. 
For a moment. Bunny was tempted to drop everything 
and make for the nearest tree. Then, with an effort, 
he controlled himself and stood his ground, right fist 
doubling almost without his knowledge. 

The crackle of the breaking brush grew louder. It 
came from the ridge of the little hill in front of him, 
and he waited for the animal to appear from among 


130 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

the trees. He could glimpse it now. Then he gasped 
with relief. The thing he had feared was Mollie Sef- 
ton, hatless, pale of face, her dress torn by the briers. 

When she saw Bunny, she uttered a cry of relief 
and ran toward him. Her face was tear-stained; 
plainly enough, she was trying hard not to break down. 

Oh, Bunny, Tm so glad I’ve found you. I’ve 
been lost all day. They think I am at the Albertsons’, 
but I went out to pick some flowers in the woods, and 
I’ve been wandering for hours and hours.” 

Bunny was striving desperately to think up a reply 
that would be truthful and not too discouraging. But 
she seemed to be aware of his perplexity. Her face 
showed a sudden terror. 

‘‘Don’t you know where we are?” she gasped. 
“ Don’t you know yourself? ” 

“ I’ll find out,” he answered recklessly. “ We can’t 
be far from the road. You just come along with me, 
Molly.” 

He started up the ravine. For a dozen steps she 
followed ; then, with a quick sob, she dropped down on 
the moss-covered bank. 

“I — I can’t go any farther,” she wept. “ I’m all 
tired, and I — I’m lost — and I can’t go any farther. 
I won’t!” 

To Bunny’s already difficult position a fresh anx- 


Fresh Fish 


131 

iety was added. No longer was he responsible for 
one, but for two. He touched her gently on the shoul- 
der. 

“If you'll stop crying," he said, “ we can talk it 
over and maybe plan something to do." 

“ I can’t plan," she wailed. “ I’m tired, and I’m 
lost. We’re both lost, and — and we’ll starve to death 
before they find us. I won’t go another step. Do 
you hear me. Bunny Payton ? Not another step." 

A sudden idea came to the boy. Without a word, 
he dropped his fishing pole and unslung the creel and 
lunch-box. He peered into the latter and smiled. The 
salt which remained after savoring his hard-boiled 
eggs had been saved ; that was a habit of thrift scout- 
craft had taught him. It was wrapped in a little cor- 
nucopia of paper, and there was quite enough of it for 
his purposes. 

In the very middle of the ravine lay a big tree trunk. 
At an acute angle with this, he piled a wall of stones. 
Then he skirmished the woods for dry twigs, and, with 
the aid of his knife, manufactured a litter of shavings. 
Next, with a single match, he started the fire. 

While it was blazing and catching the larger pieces 
of wood, he opened the creel and began to clean and 
dress his trout. All this time a strange feeling pos- 
sessed him. He felt as he had felt once before when 


132 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

he had practised valiantly to overcome the difficult 
chords in a piece of piano music. One day, to his sur- 
prise, he had found himself suddenly able to play them 
easily. This feeling held him now. Without any out- 
ward reason for the belief, he knew he could cook. 

The fire caught splendidly. It was neither too hot 
nor too cold; it was just right. Bi had labored long 
with him before the knowledge became second nature, 
but now he knew just what sort of pieces to place on 
the fire and just how to place them. He did this, ap- 
parently, by instinct. Yet he knew it was not that at 
all, but the result of long, patient work — of hard 
trying. 

Mollie was watching him now. She had wiped 
away her tears and did not look half so downcast. 

You c-can’t cook,’’ she said, with a catch in her 
voice. 

“Wait! You’ll see!” retorted the triumphant 
Bunny. “ I’m going to give you the best meal you 
ever ate in your life. You’re hungry — that’s all 
that’s the matter with you; and when you’ve had a 
couple of bites of these trout, you’ll feel so good you’ll 
want to jump up and down and yell.” 

He was glad to note that she answered this remark 
with a smile; not much of a one, to be sure, but still a 
smile. 


Fresh Fish 


133 


At one end, the ravine sloped into a little pool, 
fringed with willows. Bunny cut half a dozen of the 
green shoots and split each down the middle. Wedg- 
ing the cleaned trout in these rods, he placed them, 
like spits, across the fire. One end of each rod rested 
on the log, the other on the stones. In the middle, 
over the fire, was the trout. As he busied himself 
with these preparations, once more he became aware 
of the fact that he knew how. His efforts in learning 
to cook had not been wasted, however vain they had 
seemed at the time. As a result of these patient trials, 
an impression had been left. Now, suddenly, he found 
himself able to do the task. The suddenly,” of 
course, was all on the surface ; the change underneath 
had been going on all the time. 

Molly laughed at him. She had command of her- 
self again. “ Those won’t be fit to eat,” she said. 

‘‘ You wait ! ” Bunny nodded his head knowingly. 

After you’ve tried these, you’ll want me to cook all 
the rest for you.” 

Skilfully he turned the broiling morsels over the 
fire, that each might be done to a turn. By his side, 
Molly watched with growing admiration. 

When the first fish was cooked to an appetizing 
brown, he handed it to her on a scrap of birch-bark. 
She allowed it to cool for a little time ; then, seasoning 


134 Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

it with the salt, took an experimental bite. Bunny 
watched her from the corner of his eye. 

‘‘ Oh, great ! ” she cried enthusiastically. “ I never 
in my life tasted anything half so good.’’ 

Bunny beamed. Molly ate the little fish hungrily 
and started on a second. The cook — a real cook 
now — prepared more on the spit. 

A half hour later, rested and fed, the two “ babes 
in the woods ” were looking at things from a wholly 
different viewpoint. 

We’re not lost,” Bunny said confidently. “ Lake- 
ville is south, and everybody knows that if you face 
the east, the south is on your right hand. I’ll bet you 
I can see the spire on the Methodist Church from that 
hill yonder. If I can, it will be easy to find some other 
point nearer, on a line between it and us. Then we’ll 
make for that until it’s time to take another observa- 
tion.” 

The hill revealed nothing. , But Bunny was his sane 
self now, and he climbed its tallest tree. From its 
topmost branches, he saw; a brown, winding road less 
than half a mile from them. This they gained with- 
out any extraordinary difficulty; and, just as the clocks 
were striking six, a tired girl and an equally tired boy 
plodded into the village. 

“ I’m sorry,” said Molly as she left him, that I ever 


Fresh Fish 


135 


laughed at your cooking. You’re as good a cook as I 
am, and you’re a lot better in the woods than I’d ever 
be, Bunny Payton.” 

On his way home. Bunny stopped once. It was at 
the Magoons. He called Roundy to the door and 
said enigmatically : “ I’ve learned to cook.” Then, 

refusing to answer any questions, he hurried on to- 
ward his uncle’s house, chuckling. 

At the next regular meeting of the Black Eagle 
Patrol, Bunny was made a second-class scout. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE NINTH BOY 

The idea came to Nap one night in midwinter, 
while he was undressing. It was such a fine idea (or 
so he thought) that he felt compelled to let out a wild 
whoop, which brought his alarmed mother to the foot 
of the stairs. Just the same, it was an idea good 
enough to warrant the yell — no doubt about it ! 

The next morning, instead of loitering on the way 
to school to exchange a volley of snowballs with any 
fellow ready to give battle, he sought out Specs and 
told him the plan. Specs whooped. So did S. S. and 
Roundy. Convinced that he was about to solve a 
problem that had been bothering the Black Eagle 
Patrol for many weeks. Nap buttonholed Bunny at 
recess. 

Started your composition yet ? ” he demanded. 

‘‘ Yes, last night I — 

“Young Anvers started his?” 

“ How should I know ? Why ? ” 

“ Here’s the idea,” Nap explained, looking about 
to make sure there were no eavesdroppers. “If we’re 


The Ninth Boy 137 

to compete in that tournament next summer, we’ll 
have to enter a baseball team. That means we must 
get somebody to train as a tenderfoot, so we can have 
a ninth player. Well, you know yourself that young 
Anvers is about our only chance.” 

‘‘ That’s right,” agreed Bunny. 

“ And you know we’ve fallen down hard in our 
schemes to get him interested.” 

“ Yes.” 

‘‘ And you know he wants to win that prize of a 
book offered by teacher for the best composition.” 

‘‘Of course. As far as that goes, I do, too. But 
I don’t see what you’re driving at.” 

“ Just this,” said Nap proudly. “ We’ve tried to 
get him for our baseball team in the spring by being 
nice to him. Now we’re going to make him a fair 
offer. It’s strategy, like Napoleon used to make up. 
I’ll go to Anvers. ‘ Look here,’ I’ll say ; ‘ you want 
to beat out Bunny in that contest, don’t you? You 
do? All right. You agree to let us train you for a 
tenderfoot in the Black Eagle Patrol, and we’ll agree 
to let you win that prize.’ ‘ How can you do that? ’ 
he’ll ask. And I’ll tell him : ‘ Well, Bunny may lose 

the composition he’s writing, or get all mixed up in 
his dates and names, or — or something.’ Then 
he — ” 


138 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

The school bell marked the end of the recess period. 
Before Bunny could open his mouth, Nap said: 
‘‘ See you at noon,” and raced up the steps. 

The announcement of the contest had been made 
by Miss Pedder, their teacher, on the preceding day. 
As a matter of fact, it was the outcome of a similar 
competition held the week before, in which Bunny and 
Sanford Anvers had been declared joint winners. To 
break the existing tie between them, the two boys were 
each asked to prepare a new essay by the following 
Friday on the subject “ George Washington in the 
Revolution.” The prize was a handsome book. 

Not until Bunny took his seat in the schoolroom 
did the full significance of Nap’s proposal become 
clear. He had suggested, almost in so many words, 
that Sanford Anvers be allowed to win the prize 
without opposition. Nap could not possibly know, 
of course, how much Bunny wanted it himself. Al- 
ready he had put aside the three American histories 
he found in his uncle’s library, and marked the rather 
short biography in the Encyclopedia Britannica, and 
talked with Jeb Patton, who claimed to have known a 
man whose grandfather was very well acquainted with 
George Washington. 

The more Bunny thought about what Nap had 
said, the more indignant he became. They wanted 


139 


The Ninth Boy 

young Anvers, of course, but not at that price. Los- 
ing to him by unfair means would be just as much 
cheating as winning from him by unfair means. It 
meant a violation of the first scout law, which Bunny 
thought he had mastered by this time. So he wrote 
on his slate, ‘‘ Can’t do it ! ” and held it up for the 
other to see. 

Nap chanced to be looking in another direction. 
The message escaped him altogether. Not so with 
Miss Pedder, however. She looked from the slate to 
Bunny with cold, disapproving eyes, and said : “ You 

may remain at noon after the other pupils go. ” 

When he left the schoolhouse at ten minutes past 
twelve, still withering under the teacher’s expressed 
scorn of one who was not trustworthy. Bunny saw 
nothing of Nap. Vaguely troubled, he went home to 
dinner. At twenty minutes to one, on the way back, 
he found the trouble-maker blocking his path. 

Nap was sputtering with rage. It seemed he had 
gone to young Anvers with his scheme as soon as 
school was dismissed at noon. The boy had listened 
without comment until Nap was quite through; then 
he had said bluntly : No, thanks ! I’m not worrying 
about any scout’s beating me at anything. Anyhow, 
I can write a better composition than Payton any day 
in the week. ” 


140 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

He can’t, though, can he? ” asked Nap anxiously. 

I told him he couldn’t, but he says if he can’t — ” 

“Well?” 

“ — he’ll be willing to let us go ahead and train him 
for the patrol, and play ball with us, and join as a 
tenderfoot some day, and — Beat him. Bunny ! Beat 
him! You’ve got to do it! If any of us can help 
you with that composition — ” 

“ That wouldn’t be fair. But you just watch me 
snake Mister Anvers into the fold! You just watch, 
Nap!” 

If he had been eager to win the contest before, he 
was doubly so now. He had wanted the honor, of 
course, and the book, but he wanted much more to 
do something for the Black Eagle Patrol. If this 
ninth boy could once be interested in scouting. Bunny 
had no doubt of his ultimate enthusiasm. 

This was Tuesday. He worked on the composi- 
tion that night until his aunt sent him up-stairs to 
bed. On Wednesday Nap took him to one side. 

“ He’s cheating. Bunny. His father helps him 
write.” 

“ How do you know ? ” 

“Ay ell, our cook’s sister works for the Anvers’. 
She says San and his father do all his lessons to- 
gether. I’m going to tell teacher,” 


141 


The Ninth Boy 

“ But you’re not sure about his father’s helping him 
write,” objected Bunny. ‘‘ Maybe it isn’t so. Be- 
sides, you don’t want to be a tattle-tale, do you? ” 

“ I want you to win,” said Nap grimly. ‘‘ It’s 
just a question of fair play, that’s all. And — ” 

There was one sure way of swaying the other. 
“ Nap,” Bunny said earnestly, “ this is my fight. I 
am the one who must write the composition, win or 
lose. I am the general in the campaign. And I ask 
you, as a soldier in my army, to do as I say.” 

Nap’s heels clicked together with military precision. 
His shoulders went back, his chest forward. “ I will,” 
he said. 

“ Then don’t tell Miss Pedder — don’t tell any- 
body — this suspicion about young Anvers. Do you 
promise ? ” 

“ Yes, I promise, but I don’t understand.” 

‘‘ It’s because I have faith in young Anvers,” ex- 
plained Bunny ; “ I think he’s square. That’s one rea- 
son. The other is that by keeping you from telling, 
I do him a good turn. Besides, even his father may 
not be able to patch up his composition into anything 
very good.” 

But even this sop of comfort was wiped away be- 
fore the day grew much older. That noon he met 
Molly Sefton on the street. 


142 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

‘‘ Bunny/’ she said, “ I wish you’d invite me over 
to your house and cook me something good to eat. 
Dad came down from Elkana yesterday, and he and I 
are spending the day at the Anvers’. They have a 
French chef, you know. Ah, ze deeshes he meex — 
br-r-r-r ! I like the scout ways best. Between eating 
what that chef turns out and listening to Sanford 
read me his essay on George Washington, I am 
nearly — ” 

“ Is it a g-good essay ? ” interrupted Bunny. There 
was a slight catch in his voice. 

Molly considered. Yes,” she admitted, “ it is. 
It’s better than I supposed anybody but an editor could 
write. What makes you ask? ” 

‘‘ I just wondered. I — Good-by, Molly.” 

Molly Sefton stared frowningly after him as he 
strode down the street. Well, now,” she puzzled, 
I wonder ! ” 

In school that afternoon. Bunny tried honestly to 
study. But it was desperately hard to keep his mind 
on his work. Time after time, when some sudden 
noise roused him from his dreaming, he found him- 
self staring straight at the printed page of a text-book 
without seeing it at all. Yes, he had done his daily 
good turn, but at what sacrifice? A word from him, 
too, would relieve Nap from his promise not to tell. 


The Ninth Boy 143 

When four o’clock came, he turned resolutely to- 
ward home. The lake had frozen in the last week, 
and the skating was excellent. Several of the scouts 
headed that way, but Bunny shook his head. He must 
work on his composition. But he couldn’t. The 
spelling of words eluded him; dates and names jum- 
bled hopelessly; sentences wouldn’t come at his beck. 

It was no use. He threw down his pencil in disgust. 
Perhaps an hour on the ice would clear his head. 

Shallow Creek empties into the lake at an angle 
of about forty-five degrees. On the triangular spit of 
land between the shores. Bunny squatted down to put 
on his skates. As he was slipping the buckle tongue 
into the hole of the strap, he heard a scraping sound 
from up the creek. He turned quickly. 

Coming toward him, pushed by somebody behind it, 
was an ice-boat. It was built of heavy scantlings, 
and was perhaps twenty-five feet in length. At the 
point where the mast was stepped, a cross-beam jutted 
out, with an iron-shod runner at either end. The 
third runner was at the stern of the main plank, and 
acted as a rudder. Just forward of the tiller was a 
shallow cockpit. 

The boat slid out upon the frozen lake. Not till 
then did Bunny notice who was pushing it along. It 
was Sanford Anvers. 


144 Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

“ Want to take a spin with me, Payton ? ” he asked 
suddenly. 

Afterwards, when he thought it over. Bunny 
couldn’t recall whether or not he answered at all; 
but he did know that he skated forward with one 
powerful right-leg thrust, and that he scrambled 
aboard the ice-boat, and that young Anvers laughed 
a little, and pushed off. 

As the streaky wind filled the sail, the craft leaped 
ahead in a series of spasmodic lurches. Faster and 
faster it skimmed along, until the forward runners 
shot back a spray of fine ice-dust into the faces of 
the two in the cockpit. Then it heeled suddenly, 
with the windward runner lifting clear of the surface, 
and for a distance of perhaps fifty feet they ran on 
two, as an automobile sometimes takes a sharp curve 
on the inner wheels alone. The sensation was wholly 
new to Bunny, and not altogether pleasant. 

Presently, though, they swung out from the shore 
and ran before the wind, toward the middle of the 
lake, where there were still jagged patches of open 
water. The ice was smoother here, however, and 
many skaters were darting to and fro. Bunny waved 
a hand to Molly Sefton as they shot past her. 

What happened next, the boy never knew clearly. 
Probably young Anvers jammed over the tiller to jibe 


The Ninth Boy 145 

without warning him. At any rate, the boat veered 
from its course so abruptly and so unexpectedly that 
Bunny was literally catapulted from his seat and slung 
spinning over the glassy ice, almost at a right angle to 
the new tack the ice-boat was now sailing. And a 
moment later, as he lost his momentum, there sounded 
an ominous crack beneath him. The ice gave way, 
allowing his legs to sink into the freezing water, but 
holding firmly enough to support the balance of his 
body. Profiting by his scout training, he ceased to 
struggle, lying perfectly still. 

It was only a minute or two before Bi and Nap 
reached him, picking their way through the honey- 
comb of treacherous ice; and it was only a second or 
two after that before they lifted him clear of the hole 
and began skating him vigorously toward the shore, to 
start anew the circulation in his numbed legs. Once 
there, Bi whipped off his skates, and the journey be- 
came an overland march to the Sawyer home. 

'‘Wasn’t that young Anvers on the ice-boat?” 
asked Nap abruptly. 

Bunny nodded. 

"It looked to me,” ventured Nap, "as if he pur- 
posely snapped you off to the ice.” 

"I don’t think so. He — he isn’t that kind of a 


fellow.” 


146 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

“ Isn’t he ? Well, I — Look here, won’t you re- 
lease me from that promise I made you this morn- 
ing?” 

All day Bunny had been wondering if he would not; 
all day he had been sure he was making a mistake; 
all day he had promised himself to give the word to 
Nap. Now the time had come. But to his own sur- 
prise, he said firmly: 

“ No, I won’t. I’m going on believing in young 
Anvers just as long as I can.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


THIN ICE 

Wednesday night the weather turned bitter cold; 
the lake froze solidly from shore to shore. As Bunny 
wandered dejectedly to school the next morning, he 
stopped to watch the crew of men at work upon the 
annual ice harvest, sawing loose great squares and 
hewing open wide channels that stayed clear for a brief 
time, only to film over with a thin coating of ice. At 
noon, when he went home for dinner, he noticed that 
danger signs had been erected here and there, to warn 
the skaters. 

George Washington in the Revolution ” had been 
worked out to the final sentence the night before. The 
composition was not as good as Bunny had hoped it 
might be; lots of people besides editors, he was afraid, 
could write better. But there was nothing to be 
gained by thoughts of that kind. Now that the job 
was done, moreover, he began to experience a sense of 
exultation. He had no hope of the prize, but it was 
like doing a good turn just for the pleasure it gave 
you. 


148 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

When school was dismissed at four that afternoon, 
he headed for the lake. All day the wind had been 
blowing, and now it had increased to a gale. Because 
of this fact, there were only a few skaters, but young 
Anvers was there with his ice-boat. Bunny fancied 
he saw the boy wave a hand to him, but he could not 
be quite sure. 

He skated before the wind to the middle of the lake ; 
then turned back and began to beat his way into the 
teeth of the blow. The fight was too fierce for pleas- 
ure, and it took him only a few minutes to decide he 
had his fill. Bending almost double, he pushed on 
toward the bonfire near the shore, watching the ice- 
boat swoop back and forth in long tacks to gain the 
same haven for which he was heading. They reached 
it almost together. 

And then, as young Anvers stepped from his craft 
and lowered the sail. Bunny uttered a shrill cry, point- 
ing with an excited hand. Far out upon the glassy 
surface of the lake, a tiny object was being swept 
along by the gale. It needed only a second glance to 
identify it, even before the shouts of alarm from the 
shore and the feminine shriek that came like an echo. 

It was a combination baby-carriage, now rigged on 
runners instead of wheels, to make possible its use on 
the ice and the snow-covered ground. There was just 


Thin Ice 


149 

one such go-cart in town, and it belonged to the 
Anvers. And in it, at this minute, was Sanford 
Anvers’ baby sister. As the nurse had stood warming 
herself at the fire, the wind had slyly caught and car- 
ried away the converted sled, slowly at first, and then 
with greater speed as the full force of the gale found 
the high sail-like back. 

Nor was that all. Near the farther shore, straight 
in its path, was an open furrow of water, from which 
the ice had just been cut and hauled away. Even be- 
fore that could be reached, however, there was a newly 
frozen strip, perhaps fifty feet in width, that might or 
might not bear the weight of sled and baby. 

It was Bunny, scout-trained, who thought fastest. 
He leaped toward the ice-boat. 

Quick, Anvers ! Turn it around ! ” 

They swung the ponderous craft about. Its skipper 
ran up the sail and sprang aboard as the wind filled 
it. Instantly the boat began to move. Caught nap- 
ping by its sudden movement, Bunny skated forward 
till he was even with the cross-piece. Then he flung 
himself clumsily upon the main plank, half-falling into 
the cockpit. Anvers stared at him with fright-glazed 
eyes. 

Oh, it’s you, is it ? ” he said. Then his sailing 
skill seemed to awaken him to action. Here, shift 


150 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

your way to port for a moment. Easy ! There, that 
will do ! ” 

Bunny sprawled in the cockpit, gripping its sides 
with shaking hands. The boat was jerking a little, 
but its dizzying speed made him feel queer down in 
the pit of his stomach. He had never traveled so 
fast before on land or water or ice. The gale seemed 
to have snatched them up as it might a scrap of paper, 
and was playing with them, and tossing them about 
carelessly, and threatening to topple them over. A 
dozen times they heeled, with one forward runner or 
the other shooting high into the air, and a dozen times 
Bunny prepared himself for a spill over the ice; but 
always he heard the iron clank back once more to the 
surface. The wind roared its defiance at him. The 
runners bit through the ice like rasping files. In- 
stead of clear air, he was breathing frozen spray. His 
very eyes were so full of tears that the lake ahead 
seemed one blur of bluisEwhite. And still they swept 
on, faster and faster, till they were literally flying. 

‘‘ We’re gaining — fast,” mumbled young Anvers. 

Bunny nodded. He was afraid to open his mouth 
to speak. Carefully releasing his hold of the combing 
with one hand, he dug a clenched fist into either eye. 
Now that the first thrill was gone, he began to re- 
member his spill of the day before, when the ice-boat 


Thin Ice 


151 

was swinging along at a moderate speed, and he was 
afraid — afraid, that is, till he thought of the helpless 
baby somewhere ahead of them, sweeping forward to- 
ward the treacherous ice of the first channel and the 
open water of the second. When he thought of that, 
he forgot his own fear. He even ventured a hoarse 
question : 

“ Catch her — think ? 

Got to,” said young Anvers laconically ; my — 
sister ! ” Somehow, Bunny warmed to the other. 
What a scout he’d make ! ' 

They flew on. The boat was swaying now in a 
sickening fashion. Sails and lines were groaning and 
whipping. Once Bunny heard a sharp and ominous 
crack. The other heard it, too, and raised his head 
to study the mast, breathing a little sigh of relief as 
he saw it straight and sturdy. It seemed to Bunny 
they had out-distanced the wind now, but that was only 
a queer fancy, of course, because he could still hear 
it howl its defiance above the other roars. 

He stole a cautious glance ahead. The sled, with 
its wicker back, was only a short distance from them 
now, but so, too, was that newly frozen ice, marked 
by three or four red danger sign-posts. There was 
just a chance that the lightly-loaded go-cart might 
skim over it in safety, but the heavy ice-boat, with its 


152 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

two passengers, could never make it. Perhaps with 
one — Bunny turned a white face to Anvers. 

'' Shall — shall I drop off? ” he asked. 

The boy shook his head. He calculated with a de- 
spairing eye the distances. It was clear they would 
reach the sled too late. 

“ Don’t know — know what to — do,” he gasped, 
the pain in his heart showing plainly as he spoke. 
“ Meant — skirt this — this strip and stop — stop sled 
’fore it reached — open water.” Bunny noted that he 
still steered straight for the thin ice. ‘'No time — 
skirt now. ’Fraid — break through and — and lose 
chance. I — What ? ” 

For Bunny had interrupted the labored speech. 
Like a flash, he had seen the solution of the problem. 
Granted the sled and baby passed over the thin ice 
in safety, they must be halted before they reached the 
open water. The ice-boat could never make it. If 
it sank, or even if its runners broke through, the baby 
would sweep on to its death. But — 

“If it — gets over,” quavered Bunny, choking on 
the flying spray of ice and speaking into the other’s 
very ear; “if it — See, it’s — safe now — over thin 
strip. Run up close — close as you can — then jam 
till-tiller hard — to port — jibe, see? — and swing off 
— in time and — ” 


Thin Ice 


153 


“ But—” 

They were very close to the thin ice now. Bunny 
fairly screamed in young Anvers’ ear. 

“Jam it! Over! Clear over! Jibe! Jibe! I — ” 

Without understanding, without knowing why he 
did it at all, the boy obeyed. Bracing himself in the 
cockpit for the shock, he put the tiller hard over. 

The runners crunched protestingly. The sail 
flapped for a second; then jerked taut with a report 
like a gun. As the boat heeled dangerously, young 
Anvers moved to windward, calling to Bunny to add 
his weight. 

There was no response. At that instant. Bunny 
Payton was spinning over the smooth ice like a hard- 
thrown stick, precisely as he had been sent spinning on 
his first trip the day before. But this time it was no 
accident on his part. 

Calculating the change of tack nicely, he had al- 
lowed himself to be catapulted from the shallow cock- 
pit as the boat came about. It was the same result 
that is achieved when the last boy in “ crack -the- 
whip ” is shot head over heels by the other skaters. 
There had been a tremendous shock as Bunny hit the 
ice, and then a dizzying hysteria of momentary fear. 
But even as he whirled forward, like a shot from a 
cannon, his head cleared. 


154 Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

He knew when he spun upon the freshly frozen ice 
of the channel. He heard it crack time after time, 
so rapidly that he could not count. He even felt it 
sag a little under his weight. And then, as his mo- 
mentum lessened, he sensed a new surface beneath 
him, and he knew he had passed the danger portion in 
safety. 

The instant he could get control of his sprawling 
arms and legs, which seemed determined to wave like 
those of a straw scarecrow, he dug his finger-nails 
into the ice and ground the heels of his skates into its 
surface. These movements braked him to a stop al- 
most at once. Then he leaped to his feet, fearful that 
he was too late. 

But he was not. As a matter of fact, he had spun 
ahead of the go-cart and its precious human freight, 
although somewhat to one side. It was the work of 
only a few seconds, therefore, to skate stiffly over to 
the remodeled carriage, grasp its handle, and guide it 
away from the open water toward which it had been 
heading. 

About the time the ice-boat came swinging up, hav- 
ing skirted the far end of the strip of thin ice, the 
baby was looking into Bunny Payton’s white face and 
gurgling happily. Young Anvers smiled, too, but 
more slowly, as if he had never expected to again; 


Thin Ice 


155 

and then, of course, there was nothing for Bunny to 
do but laugh a little himself. 

''I wish,” said young Anvers — this was an hour 
later, after the baby had been turned over to its 
frightened nurse again — I wish there was a vacancy 
in the Black Eagle Patrol. Pd like to join.” 

But you can train with us, anyhow,” Bunny told 
him eagerly, “ and go on hikes with us, and play 
games with us — like baseball. Only I supposed — ” 

“You supposed what?” 

“ Why^ that you didn’t think much of scouts 
and—” 

“ Why shouldn’t I, after I saw you save my little 
sister out there? You thought faster and acted faster 
than I did.” 

“ — and that you wouldn’t have anything to do with 
the Black Eagle Patrol unless I won that prize for 
the best composition.” 

“ Oh, that ! Fact is. Bunny — they call you Bunny, 
don’t they — fact is. Dad’s been helping me with my 
composition. I didn’t imagine it was against the rules, 
but when I asked Miss Pedder, she said it was. So 
I told her I wouldn’t turn in any composition at all. 
I meant to tell you yesterday, but I felt so mean about 
jibing my ice-boat without warning you to hold fast 
that I couldn’t get up the nerve to speak to you again. 


156 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

I — I wanted to be square, of course, about the con- 
test” 

“Of course,” agreed Bunny. “I — Say, how are 
you at baseball, anyhow — pretty good ? ” 


CHAPTER XIV 


DOLLARS AND FROST AND FIRE 

But the winning of Sanford Anvers meant much 
more than the mere addition of a player for the base- 
ball team. Bunny was passing, one by one, the various 
tests that would advance him to the rank of first-class 
scout, and Number 12 in the Manual had worried him 
greatly. It said uncompromisingly that he must “ en- 
list a boy trained by himself in the requirements of a 
tenderfoot.” Until young Anvers confessed his am- 
bition to become a scout, this had seemed impossible. 
Now it was ridiculously simple. 

That night Bunny thumbed the pages of his Manual 
again, checking off the tests he had passed. He 
could swim fifty yards, signal, give first aid, cook, read 
a map, use an axe, judge distance and size and num- 
ber and height and weight within twenty-five per cent., 
describe ten trees and plants, prove he had followed 
•the principles of the scout oath and law in his daily 
life, earn — Hello, there was a test he hadn’t passed. 
He whistled softly ; his account at the Merchants’ Na- 


158 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

tional was exactly what it had been when he advanced 
from tenderfoot to second-class scout. 

Well,” he said with a smile, I’ll have to get out 
and hustle, I guess.” 

Nobody in Lakeville seemed to need the services of 
a small boy. Bunny tried the men in their stores and 
offices,' the women in their homes, and the occasional 
traveling man who stopped at the Waldorf Inn; but 
none of them had anything for him to do. Then 
Scout Master Stanton told him Farmer Benton was 
looking for a helper. When Bunny presented him- 
self, however. Farmer Benton (who was just as much 
a fisherman as he was a farmer) shook his head. 

I want a growed-up boy,” he said; a smart boy. 
You won’t do.” 

There wasn’t any way for Bunny to prove offhand 
that he was smart. Discouraged, he resumed his 
search for work all over again, trying so honestly to 
find what did not seem to exist just then that his aunt 
finally took pity on him. 

‘'If you’ll scour all my pots and pans each Satur- 
day,” "she promised, “ I’ll pay you ten cents a week.” 

Bunny jumped at the chance. The other fellows 
laughed at him, and Specs called him “ K. M.,” which 
is short for kitchen mechanic; but Bunny grinned 
and persevered. For five consecutive Saturdays he 


Dollars and Frost and Fire 159 

rubbed pots and pans with Scour-0, ” the favorite 
cleaner of the Sawyer household, and at the end of 
each completed job his aunt gave him the promised 
dime. 

The fifth Saturday he also polished up the reel and 
the metal tip and bands of his uncle’s fishing-pole, 
which showed the effects of non-use by rusting a little. 
Scour-0 did the work so well that Bunny wrote a 
letter about it to the manufacturers, who invited sug- 
gestions in their circular. 

Before another Saturday came, several things hap- 
pened. The manufacturers of Scour-O answered his 
letter, thanking him for the idea, and trusting he 
would accept the little present they were forwarding 
under separate cover.” The present was a wonderful 
fish-pole. Its receipt created a mild sensation in the 
village, and the Weekly Argus printed a full account 
of the matter. Farmer Benton (who, as has been 
explained, was just as much a fisherman as he was a 
farmer) sent for him, reproached him for not telling 
before what a smart boy he was, and gave him enough 
odd jobs to net him one dollar. 

Bunny might have gone on earning ten cents a week 
from his aunt. He did continue scouring the pots 
and pans each Saturday, but he declined to accept pay- 
ment for it. 


i6o Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

After what it brought me/’ he explained, I’m 
calling it a good turn, and a scout must not take pay 
for good turns.” 

So he still lacked fifty cents of the two dollars that 
must be earned and deposited as one of the tests of 
qualifying for a first-class scout. How was he to do 
it? 

No way presented itself for several weeks. Winter 
slowly gave way to spring, the sun warmed and coaxed 
the growing things in the fields and woods, and all out- 
doors stretched and waked up again. 

“ I’ll begin asking people for work,” Bunny de- 
cided, growing desperate. I must earn that fifty 
cents.” 

This time luck seemed to be with him. The third 
man he approached was a Mr. Meacham, who had a 
farm about two miles from town, on the Grand View 
road. 

‘‘ So you want something to do, do you? Want to 
keep out of mischief, maybe. Why, yes, I can use 
you this afternoon, I guess, helping me in my orchard.” 

Bunny began at one o’clock, worked steadily till 
fifteen minutes after six, walked the two miles to town, 
and was late to supper. Even then, his aunt noticed, 
he ate practically nothing. 

‘‘ Not sick, are you, George? ” 


Dollars and Frost and Fire i6i 


No-o, ma’am.” 

“ I hope you didn’t overdo. I believe in work and 
thrift — By the way, how much did Mr. Meacham pay 
you ? ” 

The boy turned away quickly ; he was not quite sure 
of his eyes. Then ‘‘Nothing!” he flung out. 
“ Nothing — not a cent I ” He dug his two fists into 
the swimming eyes. “I — I worked, Aunt Emma, 
till my back ached and my hands were all blistered. 
When I was through, he called me. ‘ You’re a Boy 
Scout, I see,’ he said, looking at my uniform. I told 
him I was and waited. He sort of smiled. ‘ I under- 
stand a Boy Scout can’t take pay for good turns,’ he 
said next. And, of course, I told him that was right. 
Then he smiled again. ‘ Thanks,’ he said ; ‘ thanks 
for the good turn you’ve done me this afternoon.’ 
And he went into the house. Aunt Emma, and shut 
the door, and didn’t pay me a cent; and he called 
out from inside that I had oflfered to help him, and 
mustn’t think he had hired me to work or meant to 
pay me anything.” 

Uncle Henry Sawyer, who had been listening, rose 
abruptly and went outside, slamming the door after 
him. Aunt Emma Sawyer put an arm about Bunny’s 
shoulders and pushed the hair off his forehead. They 
did not speak for a minute or two. 


i 62 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

I hope, George,’’ she ventured presently, that 
you’re goings to face your trouble as a good scout 
would.” 

I hope so,” said Bunny. He smiled wanly. I 
guess. Aunt Emma, that’s about all there is to 
do.” 

But he could not forget. If the memory dimmed at 
all, it became more distinct the following Saturday 
afternoon at sight of Meacham’s farm. The Black 
Eagle Patrol had been hiking, and was homeward 
bound on the Grand View road. Already the sun had 
sunk redly in the west, leaving behind a chill that crept 
into the marrow of their bones. And Lakeville was 
still three miles away. 

Br-r-r ! ” shivered Specs. “ It’s cold.” 

'' Is it ? ” asked Roundy innocently. “ I hadn’t no- 
ticed that, but it’s sure half past supper-time.” 

Patrol Leader Judge Lloyd edged over to S. S. 
‘‘ Sing something,” he suggested. “ Let’s make them 
forget the cold and the hunger.” 

An instant later S. S.’s clear tenor rang out in 
Marching Through Georgia.” The refrain was 
quickly taken up by the other scouts with lusty vigor, 
and their stamping feet stirred the dust in perfect time. 
For another mile, almost to the turn of the road, they 
plodded on with fresh enthusiasm. Then, at the end 


Dollars and Frost and Fire 163 

of the chorus, the song and the hiking band of boys 
stopped at one and the same time. From Roundy 
came a plaintive : 

“ Say, but I’m hungry.” 

They rounded the bend with disordered and lagging 
steps. Ahead of them, on the right, loomed the farm- 
house and orchards of Mr. Meacham. 

Let’s drop in on the ‘ Miser ’ for supper,” sug- 
gested Roundy. ‘‘ He’d feed us.” 

Yes, he would — on work!” mocked Bi, uncon- 
sciously tensing the muscles of his arms. I only wish 
those pet trees of his were loaded with apples instead 
of blossoms. We’d take some for what he owes 
Bunny.” 

‘‘What kind of trees are they?” asked Sanford 
Anvers, who was hiking with the patrol. 

“ I don’t know what they’re called,” Bunny an- 
swered, “ but he is prouder of them than he is of all 
the others. They’re a grafted stock of a combination 
of early fruits; none of the other trees is in blossom 
yet. This is the first year these eight — just a patrol 
of them, you see — have borne.” 

“ I wish,” said Judge uneasily, “ we’d gone home by 
some other road. I’m afraid — ” 

Just what he was afraid of, he did not say. But 
'Bunny, pacing along at his heels, knew well enough. 


164 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

The scouts were in the mood for vengeance ; cold and 
hungry, they might prove difficult to restrain. 

Sure enough, they swarmed through Miser 
Meacham’s gate like an invading army, and they 
d'ouble-quicked up Miser Meacham’s path, and they 
hammered lustily upon Miser Meacham’s door. Then 
they waited — not peaceably nor quietly. 

But nobody answered the summons. They ham- 
mered again on the door. They hallooed a greeting 
that was more like a command to appear. Bi even 
twisted the knob and put his shoulder against the 
panels. 

''Bi!” It was Judge’s stern voice. "If Mr. 
Meacham isn’t home — ” 

" I just wanted to see,” said Bi a little shame- 
facedly. 

It was obvious, though, that the fruit-grower was 
away. They circled the house to the back door and 
tried that. They searched through the barn, to the 
discomfiture of the two horses that gazed upon them 
with reproving eyes. They climbed to the hay-mow, 
rank with stifling dust, and poked about, quite as if 
there were an enemy in hiding. But no Miser 
Meacham did they find. 

" Come on, fellows,” urged Judge. " Let’s hike 
along.” 


Dollars and Frost and Fire 165 

Humph! ” said Nap vaguely. 

‘‘Why?” demanded Bi flatly. “He owes Bunny 
for the work he did the other day. Let’s edge into the 
house through a window and eat up the pay.” 

“ And get warm,” added Specs. 

Judge shifted his weight to the other foot. He was 
a boy himself, and he knew exactly how they all felt 
toward Meacham. But what they purposed doing 
was out of the question. Why, even Bunny would 
tell them that. But when he turned to speak to him. 
Bunny was nowhere about. He came into sight a 
moment later, walking from the direction of the 
orchard. 

“ Judge,” he said, “ there’s a thermometer over 
there. It registers just thirty-four now, and the mer- ^ 
cury’s sinking. The air is as still as it ever gets — 
no breeze, you know. Before many minutes, some- 
thing is going to happen.” 

“Exactly! Exactly! We’re going to be on our 
way to Lakeville.” 

“ I know what he means,” put in young Anvers. 

“ Dad gets the weather report each morning in the 
mail. To-day it said there might be frost.” 

“ That’s it — frost.” Bunny tried to speak slowly 
and evenly, but his voice rang with a queer exultation. 

“ In less than half an hour, maybe, there’s going to be 


i66 Boy Scouts, of Black Eagle Patrol 

a frost. And do you know what it will do? Tve 
seen them come in California. It will kill every last 
blossom on those eight pet trees of Meacham’s — 
spoil the whole crop this year. And — and I’m glad ! ” 
So are we, Bunny ! ” Hurrah for Jack Frost ! ” 

Let her come ! ” Serves the old tight- wad right ! ” 
‘‘ Three cheers, fellows ! ” 

They gave them with happy abandon. The snapper 
on the end was like the explosion of a bomb. 

‘‘ Fellows — ” began Judge. 

Aw, shucks! ” protested Bi. We aren’t making 
the frost, you know, and we can’t put nighties on the 
trees and tuck ’em into bed.” 

know, but — I’m sorry you’re taking it this 

way.” 

The scouts were ready to continue their hike now; 
for the mischief would be done, whether they stayed 
or went. Judge found little trouble, therefore, in get- 
ting them started toward town. As they marched 
from the yard, little S. S. hummed gleefully a line or 
two from “ When It’s Apple-Blossom Time in Nor- 
mandy.” But only two or three of the fellows 
laughed ; by this time, curiously enough, they were be- 
ginning to think of the damaging frost, not as a joke, 
but as a menace. 

'' Meacham ought to carry a circus tent in his 


Dollars and Frost and Fire 167 

pocket,” suggested Nap, and put it up over the trees 
on cold nights.” 

‘‘ There must be some way of preventing frost,” said 
the practial Handy; '‘some way of covering the 
fruit” 

“ They use tar-paper in the West,” Bunny explained. 

“ For trees? ” 

“ Oh, I meant for small fruits ; for bushes and 
vines.” 

“ But if you could warm the air enough,” Nap per- 
sisted, “ you could drive the frost away. Only I supn 
pose a bonfire wouldn’t do ; it would burn the trees.” 

“ Yes,” said Bunny. “ Yes.” Then, all at once, 
he burst forth into a very flood of speech, talking so 
fast they could hardly understand. “ I can’t keep 
still, fellows. I wanted to; I tried to. But it’s no 
use. All I had to do was to keep still and let the 
frost kill the crop. And you all know what Miser 
Meacham did to me; how he treated me. But I can’t. 
We may be able to save those blossoms. Shall we? ” 

Nobody spoke at first. Then Bi said awkwardly; 
“ Aw, well, why not? ” Nap said : “ We’re with you. 
Bunny, if you’ll lead.” Judge said: “I’m glad you 
offered.” Handy leaned forward with a single word: 
“ How?” 

“ In California,” Bunny went on, “ some of the 


i68 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

fruit-growers keep off the frost by stirring up the air 
with electric fans; it won’t settle, you know, when 
there’s a breeze. They have their orchards all wired 
and ready, with gongs hooked to the thermometers, 
and all that kind of thing. We can’t use fans, of 
course. But others out there — pretty nearly all of 
them now, I guess — use fires. They build them in 
smudge-pots that — ” 

'‘Smudge-pots?” It was Handy’s alert voice. 
“ What are they ? Can we make them ? How many 
would we need? What’s the idea?” 

“ A smudge-pot,” said Bunny slowly, as if he were 
reciting a lesson, “ is a kind of stove. I’ve seen 
home-made ones that did the business all right, and 
we fellows could throw some together in a jiffy, be- 
cause I saw just what we needed in the barn. Out 
West they use about forty to the acre, or one to every 
tree ; that would mean eight for Meacham’s pet 
‘ patrol.’ We could burn the trimmings piled up over 
there, and I guess there will be enough, because I 
worked a good while that day to cut them. The 
idea of the smudge-pots is to send the heat up high to 
the blossoms, where it’s needed; to keep off the frost 
by warming the air, and to keep down the heat of the 
earth and the trees by making a cover of smoke and 
smudge over everything.” 


Dollars and Frost and Fire 169 

“Great!” shouted Handy. “Quick! What do 
we make the stoves of ? ” 

There are two kinds IVe seen. One is made out 
of ten-pound lard pails. You put legs on them and 
slash the bottoms into grates. There are three old 
pails back of the barn. The other kind is made of 
stove-pipe. You cut it about two feet long, stick 
in some sort of a wire grate six inches or so from 
the bottom, and ram a lot of holes in the pipe below 
this to get a draft. And there’s a bunch of stove-pipe 
stored in the barn.” 

‘‘ Come on ! ” shouted Handy, turning back toward 
Meacham’s yard. Come on, fellows, and beat the 
frost ! ” 

“ Yes, come on! ” echoed Bunny. Come on, fel- 
lows, because I ask you I ” 

They came with a rush and a cheer, as enthusiastic 
now about saving the choice crop as they had been 
earlier about allowing it to be destroyed. Perhaps 
it was merely the novelty, or the natural reaction, or 
the example of the boy whom Meacham had treated 
so shabbily. In any event, they were his to com- 
mand. 

Once more, too, they worked with the speed, the 
system, and the sure methods of the scout teachings. 
Specs and S. S. lighted the two lanterns they found 


lyo Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

in the barn. Nap and Roundy brought the empty 
lard pails. Judge and young Anvers pulled out length 
after length of stove-pipe. Bi, the strong, Handy, the 
mechanic, and Bunny, the fellow who had seen home- 
made smudge-pots, joined hands in the manufacture. 
Not a minute was wasted. 

Bi drove huge spikes through the bottoms of the 
pails; these served as legs. A stout-bladed knife 
ripped plenty of holes for drafts. Then the crude 
stoves were tossed to the other scouts, who promptly 
packed kindling and fuel for the fires. The stove- 
pipes offered greater difficulties, but the same stout- 
bladed knife hacked and sawed them off into two-foot 
lengths, and more of the spikes, driven criss-cross 
some six inches from the ends, made acceptable grates. 
With the vents under them cut for air, these other 
smudge-pots were ready. 

They carried them out to Miser Meacham’s eight 
early-blossoming apple trees. Bunny superintended 
the placing of each of the pipes and pails in such a way 
that its fire would heat the air without damaging tree- 
trunk or foliage. Then Bi and Judge pumped and 
carried to a convenient spot a large tub of water, to 
spray the flames and produce smoke and smudge. 

“ There are just eight smudge-pots,” Bunny told 
them. That’s one for each of you to tend, includ- 


Dollars and Frost and Fire 171 

ing Anvers. Fm going to take one of the horses from 
the barn and ride to town. Mr. Meacham’s probably 
there. If he isn’t, I’ll bring Mr. Stanton back with 
me. Ready to light the fires, fellows ? ” 

Ready ! ” chorused eight eager voices. 

Judge’s was the first to flare. It began with a 
feeble flicker, but as the air sucked through the holes 
below the grate, climbed speedily till it was a roaring 
little furnace. A douche of water dulled it somewhat, 
changing the red flame to white smoke that curled laz- 
ily among the branches of the tree. Seven other fires 
crackled and blazed. 

Once the smudge-pots were burning evenly. Bunny 
raced to the stable and saddled and bridled a horse. 
He climbed to its back, clucking happily and slapping 
its thigh with his open hand. For some reason, he 
was singularly happy ; he felt like shouting or singing, 
but he contented himself with whistling. Now that 
the fires were going, he was glad, immensely glad, that 
he had not remained silent and allowed the frost to 
nip the tender blossoms. Already the grass in' the 
fields was coating with a glistening blanket of white. 

He looked back once. The sky was red above the 
orchard, and the trees stood out in gaunt silhouettes. 
On the ground, like incense pots, the tiny stoves glowed 


crimson. 


172 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

It was two miles to Lakeville, but he rode them with- 
out once reining up. Beneath the horse’s galloping 
hoofs, the road flowed backward like a river. Bunny 
could ride well, for he had owned a pony before mov- 
ing to Lakeville, and he felt a strange elation as he 
swept past fences and trees and trim farmhouses. He 
. might have sent help to the scouts from these latter, 
but he knew the fellows would do their duty till he 
* ^ brought back Mr. Meacham or Mr. Stanton. 

There was a light in the scout master’s office. 
Bunny rode to the hitching post before the build- 
ing, threw the reins over it, and pounded up the 
steps. 

“ Mr. — Mr. Stanton,” he gasped, ‘‘ have you seen 
Miser — Miser Meacham ? ” 

The scout master jumped to his feet. Quite with- 
out knowing it, he clenched his fists. Why, yes ; 
he’s down at the hotel talking with a seed salesman. 
But — What’s wrong? Has he been doing something 
to you fellows ? ” 

‘‘ No, sir,” panted Bunny. We — we’ve been do- 
ing something to him, I guess.” And then he blurted 
out the whole story. Mr. Stanton heard him to the 
end without interrupting, but once the explanation was 
clear, he sprang into action. He slipped on his coat, 
dragged the boy down the steps faster than he had 


i 


Dollars and Frost and Fire 173 

come up them, and raced with him to the Waldorf, 
where they found Miser Meacham almost at 
once. 

The scout master told him the situation in a few 
tense, compact sentences. At first, as was quite nat- 
ural, the fruit farmer looked skeptical, and more wor- 
ried about the damage the boys might do to his pet 
trees than about frost danger. But the seed sales- 
man had heard of such remedies. He clapped a con- 
gratulatory hand upon Bunny’s shoulder. Plucky 
kid ! ” he said. Come on, Mr. Meacham, we’ll go 
out with you. I don’t believe you’ll lose an apple. 
Can you get some helpers to relieve those chaps on 
duty?” 

Mr. Meacham could. But even after they were on 
their way back to his farm, with a dozen volunteers 
and some crude oil for fuel, to say nothing of Mr. 
Stanton and Bunny Payton, he appeared puzzled. 

What I don’t understand, youngster,” he said 
finally, “is why you did this for me. I — Well, I 
thought you hated me.” 

It’s our ” — Bunny hesitated for the word — ‘‘ our 
business to do a good turn whenever we can. And 
we try not to save them all for our friends. I guess 
that’s why.” 

Mr. Meacham said nothing more. By this time 


174 Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

they were within sight of the orchard, which resembled 
nothing more than a mass of dimly lighted Christmas 
trees. The wagon was driven close to them, the bar- 
rel of oil unloaded, and the men from town relieved 
the begrimed scouts. 

Perhaps ten minutes later, Judge gathered his patrol 
about him. 

‘‘ Fellows,” he said, “ Mr. Stanton says we’d better 
hike for town now. He’s going to stay and help 
keep the fires going till the danger is over.” 

Specs shivered. Away from the smudge-pots, it 
was still chilly enough to be uncomfortable. 

I wish we could carry along our stoves,” he said. 
“ I’m cold.” 

“ And I’m tired,” confessed S. S., thinking of the 
two-mile hike to town. 

I wouldn’t mind being cold and tired so much,” 
added Roundy, if I wasn’t so all-fired hungry.” 

Boys ” — it was Miser Meacham speaking — ■ 
boys, you go into my house, and warm up a bit, and 
rest a bit, and eat — well, more than a bit, and then 
hitch my team to the double-seater and drive to town. 
Leave it at the Waldorf livery. Tell Jim to get the 
horse this young fellow rode in when he came after 
me, too.” He paused to grin over the gasps of delight 
from the scouts. ‘‘ Unless,” he added thoughtfully. 


Dollars and Frost and Fire 175 

“ you can’t accept anything for your good turn.” 

Judge looked at the eight boys. The appeals on 
their faces might have softened the heart of a cigar- 
store Indian. 

That wouldn’t be exactly pay,” he said thought- 
fully. We’ll accept.” 

As the scouts marched into the warm house, trying 
hard not to crowd or become boisterous. Miser 
Meacham spoke again. 

There’s another little matter I want to settle. One 
of you there worked for me the other afternoon. I 
pretended — more to .myself, I guess, than to any- 
body else — that he was only doing a good turn. But 
he wasn’t; he was working for pay, and he deserved 
pay. Now, after you boys have saved my crop be- 
cause he asked you to and because he showed you how, 
I feel mighty small and mean. I’m a bit too old to 
join you scouts, but perhaps I can learn from you. If 
you will tell me how much I owe you, young man. 
I’ll settle.” 

Well,” said Bunny, I figure I ought to earn about 
ten cents an hour. I worked for you from one o’clock 
to a quarter after six; that makes five and a quarter 
hours. At ten cents an hour, it comes to fifty-two 
and a half cents — say, an even fifty-two. I hope 
you’ll find that right.” 


176 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

There was a hail from outside. Mr. Meacham 
walked toward the door. 

I do,” he declared, turning. I find everything 
about you Boy Scouts right — absolutely right. Com- 
ing, Stanton ! ’’ 


CHAPTER XV 


SOMETHING FOR SOMETHING 

It must not be supposed that the boys forgot, even 
for a single minute, their ambition to have the Black 
Eagle Patrol known as the best in the State. The 
new policy of one for all and all for one ” was fast 
developing a general standard of efficiency in scout- 
craft that other patrols would find it hard to match. 
The baseball nine threw and caught and batted and 
fielded till these things were as easy as walking or 
jumping out of bed momkigs. Weather permitting, 
the fellows practiced jumping, running, climbing, the 
pull-up,’' the “ push-up from the floor,” and putting 
the eight-pound shot. Merit badges in the various 
fields were won by some scout or other almost every 
week. 

As for Mr. Sefton, whose newspaper had been re- 
sponsible for this new competitive interest, it is enough 
to say that he was even more enthusiastic than the 
scouts themselves. After a conference with Mr. 
Porter, the State Boy Scout Commissioner, he an- 
nounced that each patrol (or, in the larger towns and 


lyS Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

cities where there were several patrols, each troop) 
was to hold a field day on its home grounds. There 
were to be contests in scoutcraft, in woodcraft, in 
campcraft, in tracking and trailing and signaling, in 
first aid and life saving, and in athletic events. Each 
patrol was to be graded on its performances in this 
home meet by a committee from Mr. Sefton’s news- 
paper and from the State headquarters of the Boy 
Scouts. The two patrols ranking highest were to 
clash in a special tournament at Elkana. 

In this way, of course, nearly every town in the 
State would have its own field day, and nearly every 
boy would have his chance to see — and probably 
envy — the scouts in action. Moreover, it would 
make unnecessary the delicate problems of financing 
trips for hundreds of patrols, which might bar some 
worthy competitors. The two winners, Mr. Sefton 
announced, would be brought to the tournament at 
the expense of his paper. 

The members of the Black Eagle Patrol talked of 
little else that spring. When it rained, and they 
found it impossible to run on the muddy roads, they 
longed for a cinder track. When Mr. Stanton was 
out of town, and they could not use his offices for 
their meetings, they longed for a club-house. When 
it was cold in the barn belonging to Roundy’s father. 


Something for Something 179 

or stuffy and dark (and the hay-mow was always 
stuffy and dark), they longed for a real gymnasium. 
But the building of a permanent home for the patrol 
remained a sleeping ambition until Bunny took hold of 
it. 

“ Let’s put up that house,” he said one day. Lots 
of others have done it. I’ve seen pictures myself, and 
I’ll bet they aren’t any smarter fellows or better scouts 
than we are.” 

Everybody agreed. They had been waiting, it 
seemed, for a leader. So they took the proposition to 
Mr. Stanton. 

‘‘Of course,” the scout master said heartily, “ we 
want a place we can use for both a club-house and a 
gymnasium. But I want to tell you now, at the be- 
ginning, that it is easier to think of that sort of thing 
than it is to get it.” 

“Napoleon once built — ” began Nap, but Bi shut 
off further speech by the simple process of pressing a 
muscled forearm across his throat. The scout master 
smiled and went on. 

“ In many sections of the country, I suppose, there 
are scouts who have rich parents and who can afford 
a club-house. That’s not true with us, though, and I 
don’t feel we have any right to beg money from out- 
siders. Just the same, I know you can get the house 


i8o Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

if you really want it. But you will have to pay for it, 
each one of you — not in money, perhaps, but in time 
or work or something else. Do you want a club-house 
enough to pay for it? ” 

‘‘ I should say we do ! shouted Specs. The others 
laughed. 

“ All right ! ” agreed Mr. Stanton. Put the mat- 
ter to a vote. Then, if it carries, elect somebody to 
take charge of the whole scheme.’’ 

Every single member of the patrol voted for the 
club-house, and every single member voted for Bunny 
as the director of the enterprise. 

He’s the one who made us get busy on the job,” 
said Judge in nominating him, and, even if he is the 
newest member of the patrol, he may be able to do 
what’s to be done better than the rest of us. He’s 
lived in the city and knows more about business than 
we do.” 

So Bunny went to work. It was a pleasant task for 
him. Since his arrival in the village, he had felt him- 
self rather at a disadvantage. A new boy, rather 
younger and decidedly smaller than the other scouts, 
he had not enjoyed the chance of leading that he 
secretly coveted. His brief generalship in saving Mr. 
Meacham’s orchard had only fired his ambition. And 
here, at last, he was to be given full sway. With him 


Something for Something i8i 

rested the success or the failure of the club-house. 

He went first to Farmer Benton, whose land lay 
close to Lakeville, and had a long talk with that good 
friend. He interviewed the Palmer brothers, who did 
most of the wood-cutting in that vicinity. He talked 
with Mr. Reddy, the owner of the saw-mill. He con- 
ferred daily with the scout master, as well as with 
Handy, who seemed to possess a knack of overcoming 
practical difficulties. He studied prices with the man- 
ager of the Lakeville Coal, Wood and Ice Company, 
which also sold cement and slack and lime, and might 
be induced to deal in cinders. He even visited Mr. 
Albertson, the retired contractor. 

For the club-house that the Black Eagle Patrol 
elected to build was not to be any common two-by- 
twice log cabin. On the contrary, its main room must 
be large enough for council proceedings, for an oc- 
casional entertainment, and for a gymnasium. 

As he progressed. Bunny came to think of the 
house almost as his own. He took a personal pride 
in each difficulty he overcame, in each step he made 
in the right direction, in each advance in the plans 
and possibilities. He felt an unwillingness to tell 
the others what he had done. Instead of letting them 
into his confidence, he promised them that they should 
hear about everything in two weeks. 


i 82 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

This was none too short a time for him to finish 
the details of his work, but he managed to do it. 
When he presented his report to the scouts at the 
regular Friday evening meeting in Mr. Stanton’s of- 
fices, he was tired but very proud and happy. 

Fellows,” he said exultantly, I think Fve ar- 
ranged everything. The rest is up to you.” 

“ Tell us all about it,” put in Judge; tell us what 
you’ve been doing. You haven’t said a word outside, 
and we’re all in the dark.” 

Bunny faced the patrol confidently. The first 
thing to do was to get a place for the club-house. I 
found out that there was no land we could use in the 
village; the best possible site was on Farmer Benton’s 
place, where it touches the foot of Oak Street. I saw 
him about it, and he said we could put up our house 
there if we paid him ten dollars a year.” 

“Who’s going to dig down for that money?” in- 
terrupted Bi. 

“ Fm coming to that. You know Farmer Benton 
raises a lot of strawberries. I asked him' if we could 
work it out during the berry season. He said we 
could. Well, the eight of us, working a little over a 
day apiece, can earn that ten dollars and more.” 

Bunny paused. Roundy and Nap looked at each 
other uncomfortably. 


Something for Something 183 

That settled the land question,” the speaker went 
on. The next thing was the timber for the house. 
It took me a long while to figure how to get that. 
Finally I asked Farmer Benton to furnish it himself.” 

Free? ” asked S. S. 

''Not exactly — only it won’t cost us anything. I 
told him we wanted the house for only four or five 
years at the most, and that at the end of that time we 
would turn it over to him in good condition. I ex- 
plained that he could partition it into two or three 
rooms and rent it to some of the folks who come here 
for the summer. You see, he won’t lose a cent. So 
he’s willing to give us all the timber we need.” 

" But who’s going to cut it?” demanded Specs. 
" And who’s going to haul it ? ” 

" That’s all fixed, too. The saw-mill man — Mr. 
Reddy — told me that they’re expecting a lot of rush 
business this next month, and that if Bi would come 
down every night after school and Saturdays, and 
take the same job he had before, they’d saw and trim 
the logs for nothing.” 

"You don’t say!” grumbled Bi. "How long do 
they expect me to work there? The rest of my life? ” 

" No, only two weeks. You see, if this thing is to 
go through, everybody must give up something. The 
Palmer brothers will haul the logs for nothing, if 


184 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

Judge will let them have that big white fir-tree near his 
barn/’ He turned to the patrol leader. “ You know 
the one I mean — that big fellow your father calls 
your tree.” Unconscious of the frown that was 
darkening Judge’s face, he looked toward the scout 
master. Mr. Stanton is giving up a trip to Chicago, 
so he can hire a regular architect to draw up the 
plans.” 

As he hesitated for a moment, the other scouts 
wriggled uneasily in their chairs. 

“ Building a running track is just a matter of work. 
There are lots of books with the plans. The Lake- 
ville Coal, Wood and Ice Company will turn over a 
load of cinders to us if we’ll pay for them by work- 
ing in the yards loading and unloading wood and 
kindling. 

“ We’ll need some money, of course, to pay for 
nails and hinges and things like that for the house. 
But I happen to know that two members of the patrol 
can give up money very easily if they feel like it.” 

S. S. began to finger his necktie nervously. 
Roundy, scowling, shook his head at the floor. 

‘‘What do you expect me to give up?” queried 
Specs. 

“ You’ll have to swallow some pride,” returned 
Bunny. “ You know that Mr. Albertson was a star 


Something for Something 185 

contractor and builder before he retired. Fve spoken 
to him, and he says he’ll come out every day and see 
that we do the work right if you’ll apologize to that 
old lady for allowing her eggs to be broken.” 

‘‘ I paid her for her eggs, didn’t I ? ” snapped Specs. 

‘‘ Well, you must apologize, too. Anyhow, Specs, 
you owe it to her.” 

Specs did not answer. Nobody seemed to want to 
talk much about the club-house any more. Even 
Roundy, with whom Bunny walked home, was un- 
usually silent. But it was not till the following Mon- 
day that the boy in charge discovered there was 
opposition. 

‘‘ I’ve been thinking this thing over,” S. S. told 
him at recess, and I’ve made up my mind that we 
ought to wait a while before we build. We can get 
along without a club-house.” 

That’s right,” said Nap. Besides, it would mean 
a lot of work. We’d all have to work like a lot of 
dogs just when vacation was coming, and it might 
not be a success even then. They’ve got a lot of new 
books about Napoleon at the library, too, that I want 
time to read.” 

Roundy had strolled up to them. He added his 
ideas on the subject. I think,” he suggested, we’d 
better drop the idea of having a club-house this sum- 


i86 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

mer and go in for a camping trip. That’s what I’ve 
always wanted. Besides, we can use the turning-pole 
and weights and things in Roundy’s barn, and we can 
hold regular meetings at Stanton’s.” 

But,” protested Bunny, you all said you wanted 
a club-house.” 

Well, I’ve changed my mind,” said Nap. 
Napoleon changed his mind more than once, and I 
guess other people have a right to do the same thing.” 

It was a crushing blow for Bunny. Not only had 
he counted on the pleasure of directing the building 
of the house, but he had enjoyed, during his brief 
activity, a greater consideration from his uncle. Buck 
had been a born leader, and Buck’s father had been 
inclined to be a bit contemptuous of the smaller 
Bunny. Since the beginning of the new enterprise, 
however, he had looked upon his nephew with more 
friendly eyes. In addition, his aunt had been so 
openly proud of him and his first successes that he 
felt he could not afford to drop the whole thing without 
fighting to the last ditch. 

That night, after school, he called Judge aside. 

What’s the matter. Judge?” he asked. “Why 
won’t the fellows help out on this thing? ” 

The patrol leader attempted to evade answering, but 
Bunny insisted. 


Something for Something 187 

Well/’ Judge said at last, “ it’s this point of giv- 
ing up.” 

“ But we all knew we’d have to give up something,” 
retorted Bunny, frankly surprised. ‘‘ We have to pay 
for everything we get, in one way or another. Before 
we even started, Mr. Stanton told us that.”^ 

I know,” Judge nodded. I’m not growling. I 
never knew that white fir was worth anything till you 
told me the Palmers wanted it. They have a standing 
order to look out for trees that will make masts for 
sailing yachts. That’s why they’re willing to give me 
twenty-five dollars for it just as it stands. Of course, 
though. I’d be glad to contribute it toward building the 
club-house if I thought everybody else was giving up 
something, but — ” 

‘‘ Why, everybody is. Bi is going to give up a whole 
lot of his time. Specs is going to swallow his pride, 
S. S. is— ” 

I know. Bunny ; that’s all right. But what are 
you giving up? You’re running the whole affair, and 
you ought to set an example.” 

Bunny flushed. I haven’t any money ; you know 
that. But I’m going to give up all the time I can 
working on it. That’s all Nap was asked to do.” 

Nap’s case is different,” Judge said. Nap hates 
to work, particularly when somebody else is bossing 


i88 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

the job. There’s a — well, a difference. You see, 
the fellows don’t say so right out, but they don’t be- 
lieve you’re very much in earnest about getting the 
club-house done. They think you like to feel you’re 
running things, and maybe wouldn’t be so enthusiastic 
if you had to give up something yourself.” 

That evening Bunny tossed about in his bed for an 
hour or more before sleep came to him. He tried a 
hundred times to persuade himself that he had nothing 
to give up, but he knew, deep down in his heart, that 
he was only crawling away from the issue. He woke 
in the night and worried again, and it was not till 
morning that he finally decided. 

He stopped for Judge on the way to school. 
“ Judge,” he said, “ I think I’ve been all wrong, but 
after this I’m going to try to be all right. There’s just 
one thing I can give up, and that is the chance of boss- 
ing this business. I didn’t know how much that 
meant to me till I stopped to think it over. I guess 
I was mighty selfish about it. Anyhow, if it will help 
make the fellows feel I am in earnest. I’ll give it up 
and work just as hard — yes, harder — with some- 
body else running things.” 

Judge looked at him carefully. It’s a go, Bunny. 
As a matter of fact, I — I didn’t really believe in you 
myself. I thought you were getting everything and 


Something for Something 189 

giving nothing. Now I see you’re with us on the 
job.” 

Slowly but surely, the patrol veered back again in 
favor of the club-house. Roundy gave up his cher- 
ished camping trip, Bi his time. Judge his tree, Nap 
his reading hours, and so on down the line. Mr. Al- 
bertson proved an exacting but conscientious overseer 
— after Specs had apologized. The plan was a 
beauty. The workers plodded like beavers from day- 
break till nightfall. And, although the building rose 
more slowly than they had hoped, the Black Eagle 
Patrol drove every nail straight and true. 

Handy and S. S. gave up, without a whimper, the 
two five-dollar gold pieces that in the ordinary course 
of things would have come to them at Christmas. 
Roundy contributed a third five dollars with a heavy 
sigh. 

I was given this,” he explained, for promising 
not to eat any cake or pie or candy for a whole year.” 
He shook his head regretfully. I bet I’m giving up 
more for that club-house than anybody else in the 
patrol.” 

There was an idea in the village that the handsome 
structure, together with the quarter-mile cinder run- 
ning-track back of it, had cost nothing. But the 
scouts laughed at this supposition. 


IQO Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

“ As a matter of fact,” Judge explained to one 
questioner, it was pretty expensive, although not in 
actual money. But you pay for things in lots of other 
ways. It’s just about impossible to get something for 
nothing in this world.” 

Which,” added Bunny wisely, as one who has 
learned a lesson, “ is exactly as it should be.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


INDIANS 

There was still one test for Bunny to pass before 
he could become a first-class scout. He spoke of it 
to several of the fellows. 

Oh, that’s nothing,” said Specs. ‘‘ You pick out 
some place with a good road leading — Say, I’ll tell 
you what. You make that hike a real one, and I’ll 
go with you.” 

So it happened that ten minutes later Scout Master 
Stanton looked over his desk into the flushed faces of 
these two, and listened to Bunny’s explanation. 

So you’re almost ready to, become a first-class 
scout, are you ? And you want to make this hike with 
Specs? That’s great, boys. Now, let’s see exactly 
what the Manual says about the qualifying hike. 
Here it is : ' The second-class scout . . . must make 

a round trip alone (or with another scout) to a point 
at least seven miles away, going on foot or rowing a 
boat, and write a satisfactory account of the trip and 


192 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

things observed.’ Well, that shouldn’t be difficult. 
Where are you going? Miller’s Corners? Stebbin’s 
Rock? Or—” 

If you please, sir,” ventured Bunny, we’d like to 
hike to Mammoth Mound.” 

‘‘ H’m ! ” Mr. Stanton looked over their heads. 
‘‘ Bi started for there once, I remember, and managed 
to get lost. You chaps are pretty young to — ” 

Please ! ” said Bunny. 

‘‘ I’ll take care of him,” Specs added gravely. 

Mr. Stanton walked over to the window. He 
seemed to be very good-natured about something. 

‘‘Why, yes,” he said; ‘‘yes, indeed. There’s no 
real reason in the world why you shouldn’t go there. 
If you tramp across country, it won’t prove too far. 
I know you’re both trained till you’re as hard as nails, 
so you can make it there and back in a day. And you 
can dig for Indian arrow-heads in the mound, pro- 
vided you get permission from Mr. Robinson, who 
owns the land. When you get back. Bunny, write 
me an account of the trip. If it proves satisfactory ” 
— and he smiled over the hundredth chance that it 
might not — “ you may consider yourself ready to be- 
come a first-class scout. When are you planning to 
go?” 

“ Next Saturday — if it doesn’t rain.” 


Indians 


193 

Probably anyhow,” supplemented Specs. Much 
obliged.” 

“ You’re quite welcome,” said Mr. Stanton dryly. 

Make this final test one worthy of a true scout. 
Bunny, a true, first-class scout. I — The fact is. 
I’m rather proud that you’ve been trained in a patrol 
of which I am scout master.” 

The other fellows, of course, learned of the hike. 
On Saturday morning, when Bunny and Specs left the 
club-house, each clad in a khaki uniform, with a knap- 
sack over his shoulder and a stout staff in his hand,^ 
the members of the patrol gave them a rousing send- 
off. Roundy even walked the first mile with them. 

‘‘ And now, fellows,” he said confidentially, when 
he was preparing to leave them, “ just one last word. 
Look out for Indians ! ” 

'' Rats ! ” snapped Specs. 

There aren’t any around this part of the world,” 
Bunny reminded him. 

No? ” Roundy smiled lazily up into the blue sky. 
“No? Well, you bear this in mind. The Indians 
built that mound. They swore to guard it forever 
and ever. And they do say — ” He looked about 
him, as if fearing he might be overheard; then he 
clapped a hand over his mouth. “ Well, never mind 
that. It isn’t likely any Indians would attack scouts. 


194 Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

is it ? Good luck, fellows — only keep your eyes 
peeled for feathers and war-paint ! ’’ 

Bunny and Specs plodded on for several minutes 
without speaking. Then the latter turned a specu- 
lative glance upon Roundy, who was fast disappearing 
down the road to town. 

He thinks he’s funny,” he remarked contemptu- 
ously. Indians ! Huh ! I’d just like to meet a band 
of them looking for trouble. That’s what I’d 
like.” 

I didn’t suppose there were any more Indians out- 
side of books,” Bunny reflected aloud. 

'' Oh, yes, lots of them out there.” Specs waved 
expansively toward the west. ‘‘ Maybe they come on 
here now and then to see if the mound is all right, 
but — ” 

Wouldn’t it be — queer if we did see some?” 

‘^Wouldn’t it?” echoed Specs without much en- 
thusiasm. 

They left the road and plunged into the woods. 
Squirrels scolded at them from the tree limbs, birds 
flew before them, arid, now and then, the bushes moved 
mysteriously, as if strange animals were watching 
their progress — or Indians ! 

As they hiked. Bunny mapped neatly their journey, 
to show the exact route they were following, and jot- 


Indians 


195 

ted down occasional notes that he hoped to embody 
later in his account of the trip. He kept track of the 
different kinds of trees; of the mosses on their trunks; 
of the ferns in the gullies; of the open places on the 
hill-tops, where they stopped to get their bearings and 
look backward at the village; and of the tracks he dis- 
covered in the soft ground, some of them almost ex- 
actly those of moccasined feet. He attempted a 
record of the sounds, ranging from the chatter of 
squirrels and cries of birds to the drone of the light 
breeze that rustled before them like an unseen ghost. 

Almost before they knew it, the noon hour had 
come, and they sat down on a fallen log and ate the 
sandwiches they were carrying. Specs recalled an 
Indian story his uncle had told him of the treachery 
of the Redskins, and recited it to Bunny with evident 
relish. Then they took up their steady march once 
more. 

Somewhere between one and two they emerged sud- 
denly into a clearing, with a cornfield waving before 
them, and a comfortable, squat house at the far side. 
Although neither had ever seen it before, they knew 
this must be the home of Mr. Robinson, who owned 
the land upon which Mammoth Mound had been 
erected. 

Mr. Robinson himself was mending a fence. He 


196 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

was a pleasant- faced man of the type boys like and 
trust, and he shook hands cordially with both of the 
scouts. 

Yes, indeed, you may go over to Mammoth 
Mound,” he told them. It lies yonder behind that 
grove of trees. And dig to your heart’s content. 
I guess you’ll find some relics of the old Indian days.” 

“Are there any Braves about now?” asked Specs 
suddenly. 

“ Braves ? ” Mr. Robinson was plainly puzzled. 
“ Oh, I see; you mean Indians. No, I never saw any. 
I don’t suppose there’s been an Indian on this land 
for forty years. Anyhow, you scouts are soldiers, 
fighting folks, aren’t you ? ” 

Then they had to explain to the man, as they fre- 
quently did to others, that the Boy Scout movement 
was not a military organization, but that it had been 
created to gather the red-blooded boys of the country 
into a vast army that stood for peace and character- 
building. After this, Mr. Robinson was more cordial 
than ever, and asked a hundred questions, and insisted 
upon loaning them spades to dig with, and even prom- 
ised to visit their new club-house when he came to 
town the next time. So when they left him they were 
at peace with the world. 

Mammoth Mound was a gigantic uprearing of 


Indians 


197 

earth, smoothed down evenly on the sides and flat on 
top, for all the world like a great loaf of bread-dough 
in the pan. After making a rough outline of it, 
Bunny selected a promising spot on the side and began 
to dig. Specs puttered about a long time, only to 
come back to his first choice of ground, close to his 
companion’s. 

It was hot work, and there was no real promise of 
success. But Bunny was a diligent, persistent toiler 
at any task he tackled, and Specs was fired into an 
initial activity by the zest of the adventure. And at 
last, just when they were both becoming discouraged, 
the former’s spade struck something hard. Frantic 
digging uncovered a round stone mortar. 

Wild horses could not have stopped them now. 
Whereas they had worked steadily before, they now 
dug with the frenzy of miners who have uncovered a 
pay-streak of yellow gold. Nor was the task in vain. 
Specs shortly brought to light an irregular piece of 
flint. Two minutes later Bunny uncovered a perfect 
arrow-head. 

'' Some Indian made that,” he told Specs impres- 
sively. 

'' I wonder when.” The other moved nervously. 

You don’t suppose — Listen ! ” 

They had been digging on the gentle slope of the 


198 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

mound. Now, as they paused, they heard a sound. 
It was an unintelligible murmur, but it was undoubt- 
edly a human voice. On the far side of the mound, 
somebody had spoken. 

Above them, on the very edge of the flat top, grew 
a clump of bushes. As cautiously and as silently as 
any old-time scout of the plains might have crawled, 
Specs wriggled up to their shelter. He leaned for- 
ward, parting the leaves before his face. Then, as 
Bunny watched with choking breath, the other sig- 
naled for him to come up. 

Indians! Ridiculous, yes; there were none in that 
part of the country. Impossible, yes; Mr. Robinson 
had said that forty years had passed since one set foot 
on his land. And yet, ridiculous and impossible as it 
might sound. Bunny knew instinctively there were 
Indians close to them at that very minute. 

Not to be outdone by Specs, either in courage ot in 
silent movement, he edged up the slope, an inch at a 
time. When he had reached Specs’ side, his eyes fol- 
lowed the boy’s pointing finger. 

Perhaps fifty feet from them, hugging the weeds 
and bushes as he sped forward in a low crouch, was a 
human figure. It was an Indian. There were smears 
of paint on his face. There were feathers rising from 
his bound head. 


Indians 


199 

Neither of the boys spoke. Both lay flat on their 
stomachs, breathing in queer little gasps. The sight 
was so astounding that Bunny rubbed his eyes, half 
convinced that he was dreaming. A sharp wrench of 
his arm by Specs made him look again. 

Silently, stealthily, like ghosts emerging from a fog, 
came a second Indian, a third, a fourth, a fifth — • 
scores of them, it seemed to the dazed and frightened 
Bunny. Each and every one was in full war- 
paint. 

How they scrambled without a sound to the bottom 
of the slope, neither boy remembered afterward. But 
they did it somehow. At the base of the terrace. 
Bunny put his mouth close to Specs’ ear. 

We must get away — quick ! ” he said. Walk 
on your tiptoes, so you won’t leave much of a trail. 
We don’t want to be tracked.” 

Specs nodded. Together they picked their way 
from the mound, striving to step on hard ground, on 
rocks, on sticks, on tree-limbs, that they might leave 
no marks. But once they reached the protection of 
the woods, they broke into a run, forgetting every- 
thing except a mad desire to get as far from the spot 
as possible. 

A mile away, exhausted and winded, they flung 
themselves on the ground. For a long time they lay 


200 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

there, breathing hard from their run. Then Bunny 
shook his head savagely. 

What did you see ? ” he demanded, with some for- 
lorn hope that his eyes had played him false. 

Indians ! ” shrilled Specs. “ Indians ! Hundreds 
and hundreds of them.’' 

“ Not that many,” denied the honest Bunny. “ But 
they were Indians, all right. I thought maybe — 
Oh!” 

“ What is it ? Where ? ” Specs was on his feet in 
an instant, whirling about to face the danger. 

‘‘ I just remembered,” moaned Bunny. — I 
couldn’t be expected to think of them, could I? We 
— left — our — spades — on — the — mound I ” 

‘‘ They can have them.” 

** But they weren’t ours. Specs. We borrowed them 
from Mr. Robinson, you know, and we promised him 
we would bring them back before we hiked to town 
again.” 

But—” 

We’re going to keep our word,” said Bunny 
grimly. 

You don’t mean — ” 

‘‘ We’re going back and get them.” 

“ We’re not,” shouted Specs. “ No, sir, not in a 
thousand years.” 


Indians 


201 


Bunny looked at his companion. There was noth- 
ing he wanted to do less than retrace his steps to Mam- 
mouth Mound at that time, but Specs’ very stubborn- 
ness gave him fresh determination. 

'' Specs,” he said quietly, I took this hike to 
qualify as a first-class scout, didn’t I? That means 
I must obey the law about being trustworthy. You 
remember, too, what Mr. Stanton told us about mak- 
ing it a test worthy of a true scout. We promised 
Mr. Robinson to return the spades before we left, and 
— and we’re going to do it ! ” 

We’re not,” declared Specs again. But this time 
there were signs of yielding in his voice. 

“ Yes, we are. Come on.” Without looking back, 
he walked in the direction of Mammouth Mound. 
For a long minute, which put his courage fairly to the 
test, he heard nothing of Specs. Then, coming closer, 
as if the other were following him on a dog-trot, he 
caught the footfalls of his companion. 

‘‘ I think,” said Specs’ voice just behind him, that 
you're a chump. Bunny Payton, but I — I don’t want 
you to go back and get killed alone. Only — let’s be 
careful.” 

They were. When they came in sight of the mound 
for the second time that day, they were effectually 
screened from observation by any Indian who might 


202 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

be prowling about. Nor was their guarded advance 
one calculated to give warning to any lurking Red- 
skin. 

As a matter of sober truth, however, there were no 
Indians to be seen. The mound lay basking in the 
afternoon sun, peaceful and deserted on every side. 
The spades were where they had left them. There 
was no sign of life in any direction. 

“ But we saw them,” protested Bunny, pushing back 
his damp hair. ‘‘ Or — did we? ” 

Sure we saw them,” affirmed Specs. Come on, 
let’s get away from here.” 

Somewhat against his will, for he was now uncer- 
tain as to what he really had seen. Bunny allowed him- 
self to be dragged away. Specs headed him straight 
for the Rohinson farmhouse. Luckily, as they wanted 
to avoid talking about the matter at all without think- 
ing it over, Mr. Robinson was nowhere to be seen. 
So they propped the two spades against the door of 
his barn and slipped away. 

'' Now,” remarked Specs firmly, ** we’re going home, 
and we’re going home in a hurry, too. I — I’ve had 
about all the excitement I need for one day. All those 
Indians — ” 

I wonder if they were Indians, though. If there 
was any way of making sure — ” 


Indians 


203 


Want to track ’em to their wigwams?” asked 
Specs hotly. “ Want to go up and say : * I’m next, 

Chief ; scalp me ’ ? ” 

That’s it — the tracks, I mean,” announced Bunny 
triumphantly. “ I’m going back, to the mound and 
look for tracks. If I can’t find any, I’ll know there 
weren’t any Indians. Come on. Specs.” 

Not me ! I won’t do it ! ” There was no doubt- 
ing the finality of his tone this time. I won’t budge 
a step nearer Mammouth Mound than right here where 
I stand.” 

Bunny hesitated. It took courage to make the trip 
alone, but his practical mind told him he would never 
be certain till he had the proof. People dreamed 
things, and imagined things, and — 

All right,” he said suddenly, “ you stay here. 
I’ll go alone.” 

As Specs turned to protest. Bunny slipped away. 
With a sigh, half admiration, half contempt, the other 
squatted down and waited. A quarter of an hour 
later Bunny was back. 

‘‘ Well?” 

They were there, Specs. Along the path they fol- 
lowed, I found footprints, scores and scores of them, 
each one made by a moccasin. Nobody wears moc- 
casins but — ” 


204 Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

“ They were Indians/’ said Specs solemnly. 

They were Indians/’ agreed Bunny even more sol- 
emnly. . 


CHAPTER XVII 


IF HE WERE TO LIE 

On the following Monday afternoon, accompanied 
by the protesting Specs, Bunny called at Mr. Stanton’s 
offices. He handed over his written account of the 
trip, and sat stiffly in one of the straight-backed chairs 
while the man read it. 

'‘Good!” said the scout master, nodding approv- 
ingly as he finished the introduction. " That’s an ex- 
cellent way to begin.” He read another page. " Yes, 
that’s fine! You observed carefully, and you recorded 
with a lot of skill.” By this time, he was skimming 
rapidly through the manuscript. Specs wriggled un- 
comfortably. Bunny watched with fascinated eyes as 
the man turned to the final page. 

Until the last paragraph, Mr. Stanton’s expression 
was one of satisfaction and congratulation. Here, 
suddenly, it altered to amazement. For he read : 

" I looked over the mound and saw an Indian. I 
watched. Others came along, one behind the other. 


2o6 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

but I could not count them all. After a while, though, 
I went back and looked at the tracks in the soft earth. 
They were made by moccasins, which only an Indian 
wears.” 

“ H’m ! ” said Scout Master Stanton. H’m ! 
What’s this. Bunny? The account was to be merely 
true, without any fiction in it at all.” There was a 
big-leaded blue pencil on his desk. Looking at the 
boy with twinkling eyes, he drew it through the final 
sentences. 

But I saw some Indians,” declared Bunny, with 
just a suspicion of sullenness in his voice. “I — we 
both saw them, didn’t we. Specs ? ” 

We did; honest Injun, we did, Mr. Stanton.” 

Oh, come, come, boys! Don’t keep up a joke too 
long. Shall I consider this final paragraph out of the 
account. Bunny ? ” 

If you want ta; 'sir; only — only I saw Indians.” 

So did I,” put in Specs loyally. 

The scout master’s brow wrinkled. There was 
something irritating about their sober insistence. He 
shut his lips a little tighter and looked squarely into 
their faces. Before his steady gaze, their eyes wav- 
ered and fell. 

‘‘ There are no Indians in this part of the country, 
of course,” he told them kindly. I don’t suppose 


If He Were to Lie — 207 

there’s been an Indian here for forty or fifty years. 
So — ” 

'' We saw some Saturday,” repeated Bunny dog- 
gedly. 

'' Out at Mammouth Mound,” contributed Specs. 

Nonsense ! ” exclaimed Mr. Stanton. The thing 
was becoming serious. You can’t have seen what 
wasn’t there. Don’t you think this joke has gone far 
enough ? ” 

It’s no joke, sir.” 

'' We saw them.” 

Mr. Stanton lifted a paper-weight from his desk. 
Before h^ spoke, he turned it over and over, as if it 
were an object he was studying for the first time. 
Then he said: 

Bunny, I’ve talked to you, once or twice about the 
matter of trustworthiness. Usually I’ve done it be- 
cause you didn’t perform exactly some task. But this 
is a little different. I want you to repeat the first 
scout law.” 

' A scout is trustworthy,’ ” began the boy in a low 
voice. ‘ A scout’s honor is to be trusted. If he 
were to violate his honor by telling a lie — ’ ” 

Now,” interrupted Mr. Stanton, I am going to 
ask you a question. Think well before you answer it. 
Did you really see some Indians Saturday?” 


2o8 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

It seemed to Bunny that he was suddenly stricken 
dumb. Through his brain raced the final words of 
the first scout law, the penalty for telling a lie, “ — he 
may be directed to hand over his scout badge.” He 
stole a glance at Specs, whose face had gone very 
white. Mr. Stanton waited patiently. When he had 
given the boy plenty of time to answer, however, he 
repeated his question. 

li you please, sir,” quavered Bunny miserably. 
I’d like to talk with Specs before I say yes or no ; 
I’d like to talk with him alone, if you don’t mind.” 

Very well,” agreed the scout master, looking at 
his watch. ‘‘ I shall leave you two here in my office 
for ten minutes while I walk around the block. At 
the end of that time, I shall come back here and ask 
you again. Then, if you confess you did not see any 
Indians, and tell me you were merely joking, you may 
consider the matter forgotten. But — ” And he 
chopped short the implied threat with a snap of his 
teeth, and went out the door. 

Left alone, the two boys looked hopelessly at each 
other. Specs was the first to speak. 

He’ll ask me, too,” he said. “ Listen, Bunny ; 
maybe we didn’t really see them.” 

But we did. I saw them, you saw them, and I 
examined the tracks.” 


If He Were to Lie — 209 

He won’t believe us,” Specs argued, '' and if we 
stick to the tru — to our stories — Let’s not. Bunny; 
let’s tell him you were only joking; let’s — ” 

Let’s not. We’re going to tell the truth. Specs, 
no matter how much it hurts. Why, I’d rather not 
be a scout at all than be one who lied. You — ” 

“ Oh, I know. I didn’t mean it. We’ve got to 
stick to the story, of course. I thought maybe — I 
don’t know what I thought. I wish I had never seen 
the old mound ! ” 

Bunny nodded. For five long minutes, ticked off 
by a solemn-faced clock on the wall, they sat silent, 
looking about the office, avoiding each other’s eyes, 
and shuffling their feet uneasily. When the door 
opened suddenly to admit Mr. Stanton, both jumped 
as if the sound were a rifle shot. 

'' Now, Bunny,” the man said abruptly, did you 
really see Indians Saturday ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, I did.” 

'' Specs? ” 

Yes, sir, I did, too.” 

Mr. Stanton did a queer thing. Just when they 
expected him to tell how he was to punish them, he 
went over to the boys and threw an arm protectingly 
about the shoulder of each. Both Bunny and Specs 
opened and shut their eyes several times. 


210 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

Boys,” the scout master said earnestly, “ I want 
to believe you. I think I do. But it’s going to be 
hard; very, very hard. When I went out that door 
ten minutes ago, I told myself that if you still held 
to your wild tale upon my return, I should ask you 
to hand over your scout badges. I’m not going to, 
though — not yet. I’m telling myself that there’s 
some horrible mistake about it all, and that you are 
sincere in believing you saw Indians. I can’t imagine 
any explanation, but I shall wait a while before I pass 
judgment. A scout, you know, is friend to all; a scout 
master must be doubly so. Good-by.” 

The week that followed was the dreariest Bunny 
and Specs had ever known. Had it not been for the 
staunchly loyal attitude of Mr. Stanton, there is no 
telling what they might have done. Even so, it 
seemed they were to be convicted of telling an untruth. 

On Wednesday, for example, they learned from 
Judge that the scout master had driven out to Mam- 
mouth Mound. Judge did not know why, but the two 
under suspicion realized that it was to search for the 
footprints Bunny claimed to have seen, and to talk 
with Mr. Robinson. Their hopes ran high until Mr. 
Stanton himself told them a light rain in that vicinity 
had destroyed any tracks that might have been there. 
Mr. Robinson was away from home. 


If He Were to Lie— 


211 


On Thursday Roundy came to them with an awk- 
ward apology for attempting to frighten them by talk- 
ing about Indians. He was obviously uncertain as to 
what harm he had wrought, but the incident served 
to show that the scout master was investigating each 
detail of the affair. 

Thursday evening Bunny met Mr. Stanton on the 
street. The man greeted him cordially enough, but 
when Bunny asked if there was anything new about 
their hike the week before, he merely shook his head. 
The regular meeting of the patrol was on Friday 
nights. 

Shall I come, sir ? ’’ asked the boy doubtfully. 

'‘Of course. Until I ask for your badge, I want 
you to serve your- patrol faithfully. But I wish — ” 

So he and Specs went to the meeting, much as they 
would have liked to stay away. By this time, too, the 
other scouts were aware that something was decidedly 
wrong. They looked curiously at Specs and Bunny, 
and they hung upon each speech of Mr. Stanton’s as if 
waiting for the explanation. 

Although the scout master had no idea of revealing 
the trouble, he realized it was going to be hard to get 
through the routine business of the meeting; for all 
the fellows knew that Bunny had taken the hike as the 
final test for qualifying as a first-class scout, and that 


212 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

his promotion was to have been announced to-night. 
Mr. Stanton decided to say the advancement would be 
taken up at the next meeting. He cleared his throat. 

Somebody knocked on the door. Handy, who was 
nearest, threw it open and said : ‘‘ Come in, sir.” A 

man stepped into the club-house. 

Why — why, it’s Robinson,” whispered Bunny to 
Specs, hardly knowing whether to be sorry or glad. 

‘‘ Couldn’t find his spades, probably,” answered 
Specs gloomily, '' and wants to have us searched.” 

I met two of your scouts the other day,” the vis^ 
itor told Mr. Stanton, '' and I don’t mind saying I 
liked them so well that I promised to call at the club- 
house the next time I came to tovm. I’d like to know 
all about the movement.” 

Mr. Stanton was glad of the interruption. He 
showed Mr. Robinson the pennants on the wall, the 
merit badges the various scouts had won, and had him 
shake hands with each of the boys. Then he told 
something of the ideals of the Boy Scouts of America; 
and, before the visitor quite realized it himself, Mr. 
Robinson was making a speech. 

In my day,” he concluded, we didn’t have Boy 
Scouts. I wish we had. But I’m not going to cry 
over spilt milk; I’m going to get better acquainted 
with you boys. Coming into town to-day, I was turn- 


If He Were to Lie — 213 

ing over in my mind how I might do it, and it came 
to me all at once. There’s going to be a big moving 
picture shown over in Harrison City shortly, and if 
your scout master doesn’t object. I’ll take you all over 
in my hay-rack, nicely bedded down from the mow.” 

“ There will be no objection,” said Mr. Stanton a 
little absently, if the subject is one that will prove 
helpful or educational.” He was wondering if Bunny 
and Specs would be members of the Black Eagle Patrol 
by that time. 

Well, as I understand it, the picture is to be his- 
torical, with scenes from the time of the first settlers in 
this part of the country right down to the present time. 
Some of the pictures were taken on my land. One 
shows an Indian massacre near Mammouth Mound. 
They took that picture last week, with a whole parcel 
of made-up Indians; the camera chap said I could 
bring anybody I liked to Harrison City to see it.” 

Mr. Stanton sat up very straight. A slow smile 
grew upon his face. 

“ When was this picture taken, did you say, Mr. 
Robinson ? ” 

“ Last Saturday afternoon. I didn’t know it till 
night myself, but I guess they didn’t tear up my land 
any. I’ll confess,” he added a little- sheepishly, '' I 
was some set back to see a file of Indians come to the 


214 Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

house, all togged up with feathers and war-paint. I 
couldn’t believe I was seeing right until they explained 
they were moving picture actors. May I take your 
boys to, Harrison City, Mr. Stanton?’’ 

Most certainly.” 

All the scouts talked excitedly at once. Only one 
fragment of conversation is worth recording. 

I suppose we might as well go along. Bunny,” said 
Specs, but it won’t be new to us. We’ve seen those 
moving picture actors once.” 

The meeting concluded with the routine business of 
advancing Bunny Payton to the rank of first-class 
scout. As Mr. Stanton put it, he had passed the final 
test of the qualifying hike with the highest honors. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


A RACE AND A PROVERB 


George!^’ 

Bunny stopped at the gate as his aunt appeared in 
the doorway. 

Didn’t you ask me to remind you of something? ” 

Bunny laughed. “You mean the shoe?” 

His aunt laughed, too, because it had become a joke 
between them. “ Yes, I mean the shoe.” 

Bunny wavered. “ I’ll take it next time,” he said. 

“ That’s what you promised yesterday. If the Boy 
Scouts ever give a prize for putting off things, I know 
who will win it.” 

Bunny frowned. “ Well, you know how it is. 
He’s the only cobbler in town, and I haven’t exactly 
wanted to go back since we had that row when he gave 
me a Canadian quarter.” His face brightened. “ Be- 
sides, I couldn’t go now. There’s a very important 
meeting at the club-house. The State Scout Commis- 
sioner is to be there.” 


2i6 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

“ Run along, laughed his aunt.' “ It’s your shoe, 
not mine. But you remember the proverb: ‘For 
want of a nail the shoe was lost.’ ” 

“ Not this one,” Bunny retorted with a smile. 
“ This shoe has a rubber sole, and there aren’t any nails 
in it.” 

But as he went down the road at a dog-trot, he 
found he was secretly disgusted with himself. He 
was painfully aware that he had a tendency to put off 
disagreeable jobs, and that, as in the present case, the 
excuse was often a flimsy one. To-day, for example, 
he contented himself by arguing that it didn’t matter 
particularly whether the leather backing which cov- 
ered his heel was sewed or not, because the athletic 
competitions were over. The Black Eagle Patrol had 
held its field day a week before. 

Besides, it was really a most important meeting to 
which he was hurrying. The State Boy Scout Com- 
missioner was expected to announce just how well they 
had done in the various contests, and just how high 
the committee ranked them. They hoped, of course, 
that their patrol would be one of the two that were to 
be sent to the tournament at Elkana, but they had heard 
disquieting rumors about the wonderful efficiency of 
the Beavers of Swamp Lake, the Panthers of Elkana, 
the Ravens of Millertown, and several others. 


A Race and a Proverb 217 

WeVe won, of course,” S. S. was saying when 
Bunny entered the club-house. ‘‘ You don’t suppose 
the head man in the State would come here to tell us 
we’d lost, do you? ” 

Judge did not seem quite so sure. 

‘‘If we have lost,” Specs said aggrievedly, “ it’s 
probably because of the broad jump. If you’d just 
waited till I ran home and put on my tennis shoes, I 
could have beaten Bi a mile and made some sort of a 
record.” 

“ It’s yOur own fault,” Judge remarked drily. 
“ You knew all about it beforehand. We couldn’t 
stop after we had the judges there. • Why didn’t you 
bring your tennis shoes with you ? ” 

“ Never you mind why,” Specs grumbled. “ I 
could have beaten Bi, I tell you, if you had waited for 
me to get my right shoes.” 

The entrance of Mr. Porter, the State Commis- 
sioner, cut short Judge’s answer to this complaint. 
He was a man of middle age, but he walked with the 
springy step of a boy, and he suggested, somehow, the 
outdoor world. 

“ You all want to hear the results of the field meets 
held by the patrols of this State during the last four 
weeks,” he began briskly. “ They proved highly in- 
teresting. It was a close race.” 


2i8 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

‘‘Did we win?'' demanded Nap, apparently 
quite unaware that he had put his thought into 
words. 

Mr. Porter merely smiled. “ The system of mark- 
ing that was used is too complicated to explain in this 
short time, but you will understand me when I say we 
rated each patrol in such a way that it received i,ooo 
if perfect in the various tests of scoutcraft, woodcraft, 
campcraft, tracking and trailing and signaling, first aid 
and life saving, and various athletic events. Of 
course, there were no perfect patrols. But the Fox 
Patrol of Vanceville, the Panthers of Elkana, and your 
own Black Eagles all stood over 850." 

“ Who won?" gasped Specs. 

“The Fox Patrol received a rating of 876; strange 
to say, the Black Eagles and the Panthers were tied 
with 894. In accordance with the offer made by Mr. 
Sefton, these two latter will compete in the special tour- 
nament at Elkana, provided both are satisfied with the 
events." 

It was Bi who cheered first, and Bi's voice was loud. 
But the roar of delight that came from the others 
drowned it altogether. Everybody thumped every- 
body else on the back. Even Specs shared in the en- 
thusiasm, although he bewailed the fact that the Black 
Eagle Patrol might have won the highest rating if he 


A Race and a Proverb 219 

had been given time to get his tennis shoes for the 
broad jump. 

The tournament at Elkana,” continued Mr. Porter 
when he could make himself heard again, '' is to con- 
sist of two main events. One will be a baseball game, 
as announced some months ago by Mr. Sefton’s news- 
paper. The other will be a medley relay race. If one 
patrol wins both of these events, it will be awarded the 
special medal and then taken on the trip to New York 
City. On the contrary, if each patrol wins one event, 
the tie will be broken by contests not to be announced 
till that day.’’ 

What’s a medley relay race? ” demanded Specs. 

The idea is Mr. Sefton’s,” explained the commis- 
sioner. Each team is to be made up of the entire 
eight boys of the patrol. The first two to meet in com- 
petition are to follow made trails to a spot where each 
will be given a different message. They will make 
fires by rubbing sticks, melt wax, seal the messages, and 
turn them over to the second members of the teams, 
who will compete in a cross-country run. The third 
pair will swim to an island in Clear Lake, where the 
next contestants will await them in canoes. These 
boys will paddle to the foot of a steep hill on the main- 
land, there turning the messages over to their mates of 
the fifth relay, who will climb to the summit. The 


220 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

sixth bandages the seventh, who are supposed to be 
disabled, and who then signal the messages by any code 
they choose to the eighth pair. The final relay is the 
1 00-yard dash. Do you vote to accept the conditions 
of the race ? ” 

They would and did. To have heard their noisy 
approval of the unique relay, one might have thought 
it framed for their special benefit. Only Specs ob- 
jected; he wanted a jump put in it, and detailed once 
more how he might have beaten Bi and set a new 
record if the judges had only waited for him to get 
his tennis shoes. But this time Mr. Stanton put a 
stop to him. 

Specs,” he said severely, ‘‘ you must quit that sort 
of thing. If you’re licked, don’t whine or grumble. 
When you look for excuses, you’re not a good sports- 
man or a good Boy Scout. To take your defeats 
cheerfully and smile is the real test, after all.” 

It was a bit of advice much needed, not alone by 
Specs, but by several other members of the patrol. 
Bunny took it to heart quite as much as anybody else. 

During the next few days following the departure 
of Commissioner Porter, the scouts busied themselves 
trying to decide which specialty each should attempt. 
There was no doubt as to the swimming lap ; Roundy 
was far and away the best swimmer of the eight. S. 


A Race and a Proverb 221 

S. was also chosen unanimously for the first aid stunt. 
Handy had a knack of paddling that pointed clearly 
to his selection as canoeist. 

Bi challenged Judge’s right to run in the cross-coun- 
try lap, but in the trial race the latter beat him deci- 
sively. As a result, Bi was assigned to run the fourth 
relay. This, as Mr. Stanton had been informed, was 
to consist of climbing a steep and difficult hill, a job 
for which Bi was exactly suited. 

Specs was content to have the glory of finishing the 
relay till he discovered that part of the task of the 
first boy up would be to kindle a fire \tithout the use 
of matches. Being proud of his ability in this line, he 
challenged Nap, only to be badly distanced. Nobody 
listened as he tried to explain his defeat. 

It was after this match that Bunny asked permission 
to race Specs for the honor of running in the final dash 
of the relay. 

Mr. Stanton seemed puzzled. But I thought you 
were satisfied with the signaling,” he said. 

Specs does that as well as I do,” explained Bunny. 
‘‘ So does Judge, and so do Nap and Handy.” 

‘‘ But you can’t beat Specs in the dashes. Why, on 
our field day he beat you in both.” 

Bunny nodded. I know,” he said. “ I don’t want 
you to think I am making excuses when I say I 


222 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

had a sore foot then, but I did. I think Fm a better 
runner than Specs, and I want to race him.” 

Mr. Stanton considered silently. Well,” he said 
at last, “this is Saturday morning. You look up 
Specs, and we’ll have the race over with at once — if 
he’s willing.” 

Specs was willing; more than that, he was anxious. 
“ Sure,” he consented, “ Fll run you now. Do you 
really think you can beat me, Bunny? Well, you’ll 
think different when we get to going. Why, Fve 
never run as fast as I could.” 

It happened that the cinder track was impossible 
that morning. A heavy rain had washed tiny valleys 
in one section, and the cinders were now being re- 
bedded. 

“ We’ll try going around the Anvers place,” decided 
Mr. Stanton after some discussion. “ Run up Willis 
Court to Beechnut Street, and then about fifty yards 
over, and down Maple. That makes two turns, but 
the going is perfectly level, and it gives me a chance 
to be at both the start and finish.” 

As Bunny crouched, waiting for the pistol shot, he 
planned his race. Specs could lead up the Court to 
the first turn; then he would catch him on Beechnut 
Street, and try to increase the lead as much as possible 
down the home-stretch. He was confident that be- 


A Race and a Proverb 223 

fore he completed that U-shaped course he would be 
far to the front. His foot was well again. On even 
terms, he could show Specs the color of his flying 
heels. 

'' Get set ! ” 

Bunny humped his back into position. A sudden 
misgiving made him press his toes harder into the 
starting holes he had dug. One shoe sagged loosely 
at the heel — the rubber-soled shoe that had never 
gone to the cobbler ! Suppose — 

‘^Bang!’^ 

The two boys started together. Specs plainly had 
no intention of being headed, which fitted in very well 
with Bunny’s program. So, after an initial sprint to 
start the other off at a good clip, he dropped behind. 
But he did not drop behind any farther than was abso- 
lutely necessary. He merely shifted to a position 
some six feet to the rear, setting his legs twinkling to 
Specs’ tune. They ran in perfect unison, quite as if 
propelled by the same piston rod. 

Bunny began to feel better. The tension that had 
worried him before the start was relaxing. As he 
ran, he knew he was the better of the two. When he 
started his sprint, he expected to overtake his rival 
with hardly an effort. 

Nearing the turn, his heart jumped as an uncom- 


224 Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

fortable thought forced its way into his consciousness. 
The shoe on his right foot was beginning to work 
free. The rip was widening. With every step, the 
heel scraped up and down. 

He became aware suddenly that he was dropping be- 
hind a little. In thinking of the shoe, he had taken 
his attention off his running. He spurted to catch up. 

They made the corner with a rush ; it was time now 
to begin his finishing sprint. Clutching tighter his 
pair of wooden grips, he started to crawl up on the 
outside of Specs. But Specs saw the maneuver and 
increased his own speed. They were going it hard. 
Bunny had forgotten all about the shoe in his anxiety 
to round the home-stretch in the lead. 

Now it was thirty yards to the Maple Street turn — 
now twenty. Bunny was almost even with Specs. 
He was gaining fast, just as he had known he would. 
Then, when he was about to put on the last ounce of 
steam, something seemed to give way. He found him- 
self sprawling on the ground. 

He knew at once what had happened. The loos- 
ened shoe had caught on a bit of stone, tripping him 
and sending him to his hands and knees. But he was 
not hurt. Luckier yet, the fall had jammed the faulty 
shoe more firmly upon his foot. 

Unaware of the accident. Specs had disappeared 


A Race and a Proverb 225 

around the corner. Bunny jumped up and threw all 
his energy into what he felt must prove a hopeless race. 
Even though he lost, however, he resolved to do his 
best. 

How he ran! He thought of just one thing, and 
that thing was the flying figure ahead of him. A stub- 
born determination lent his feet wings. His strides 
were longer than ever before; he seemed to cover the 
ground more easily. Perhaps — he hardly dared 
hope — perhaps, after all, it was not Specs’ race yet. 

He must catch him! That was it! Catch him! 
Catch ! He must catch Specs ! 

He felt his strength going fast. His legs seemed to 
be some other fellow’s. That hoarse puffing couldn’t 
be his breathing, could it? Maybe it was Specs’. 
Where was Specs, anyhow? 

Ahead of him, he could see Mr. Stanton, watch in 
hand. He knew they were close to the finishing line, 
and he summoned all that was left of his skill and 
power for one last spurt. He put his whole body into 
every stride. He was gaining now — gaining — close 
behind — even — no, not quite ! Specs was still 
ahead. Now they were breast and breast! Now — 
He threw up his arms. A piece of red yarn, broken, 
fluttered to the ground. He had touched it first. He 
had won. 


226 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

Breathing hard, he waited for Mr. Stanton’s con- 
gratulations. 

Bunny,” said the scout master, ‘‘ you’re a much 
better runner than I thought. Specs only beat you by 
about five inches, and if you’d thrown yourself for- 
ward at the end — if you hadn’t finished a little care- 
lessly — you might have made it less. Now, if you 
signal in the big relay race as well as you ran to-day, 
you’ll beat your man.” 

Bunny frowned, staring at the ground. He hadn’t 
won, then; he had been beaten. He looked at his 
hands. One palm was bleeding a little where a sharp 
bit of gravel had cut it. He wanted to explain that 
he had fallen, that if he had worn another pair of 
shoes — 

Then he remembered what Mr. Stanton had said to 
Specs that day about winning and losing. With an 
effort, he smoothed the frowning creases from his 
face. He held out his hand. 

'' It was a great race, Specs,” he smiled, and I’m 
glad you won.” 

He did not tell the whole story to anybody, not 
even to his aunt. When she asked him why he hung 
a horseshoe nail from the head of his bed, he an- 
swered : 

That’s to remind me that for the want of a nail 


A Race and a Proverb 227 

the shoe was lost — and all the rest of it. But it’s 
mostly a reminder that nothing like that is ever going 
to happen to me again.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE FIZZLED NINTH INNING 

About the first person Bunny spied in Elkana on 
the day of the tournament was Molly Sefton. 

‘‘ Dad says you’re the captain of the Black Eagle 
ball team,” she began abruptly. “ Are you? ” 

“ YeS'S.” For some reason, Bunny felt like apolo- 
gizing. “ You see, the fellows insisted. They 
thought I knew more about baseball than they did 
and — ” 

You beat those Panthers,” ordered Molly. I 
hate them because they think they’re so good at every- 
thing. They need to have the conceit taken out of 
them. You beat them. Are you a good batter? ” 

I hit over .300,” said Bunny proudly. '' I — 
Oh, I forgot. You’re only a girl; you don’t know 
what that means.” 

Don’t I, though? I’m a fan, even if I am a girl. 
I’ll be at the game. And let me tell you. Bunny, when 
you come up to bat in the ninth, with the score tied, 
and two out, and then slam out a home run, nobody 
in that old grand-stand will yell louder or longer than 


The Fizzled Ninth Inning 229 

I will — unless it’s your Uncle Henry. If there’s one 
thing in the world he loves, it’s baseball.’’ 

“ He’s proud because I’m captain of the team,” the 
boy confessed. “ He says it’s my chance to show the 
stuff that’s in me by winning the game for my pa- 
trol.” 

Of course it is,” agreed Molly heartily. That’s 
what you’ll do when you set off the fireworks in the 
ninth with that clean-up hit.” 

“I’ll try — hard!” 

“ You’d better. What kind of a game do you think 
it will be if the ninth inning fizzles? You’d better try. 
Bunny Payton.” 

When he gave Bi his final instructions just before 
the game, he was still thinking of what the girl had 
said. 

“ I want you to pitch your head off, Bi,” he told 
the big fellow. “ We’ve simply got to win this 
game.” 

“ I know,” declared Bi solemnly ; “ it means a 
strangle-hold on the tournament.” 

“ Because,” went on Bunny, quite as if the other 
had not spoken, “ because you see, Bi, this is the first 
chance I’ve had to show what I can do. But you must 
do your share; I can’t win alone.” 

“Of course not,” said the Black Eagle pitcher, 


230 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

Afterwards, as Bunny recalled the talk, he was con- 
scious that Bi had looked at him a little queerly. 

They spun a coin to see which team should bat first. 
Bunny won, and elected to take the field and allow 
the Panthers to step up to the plate. The batting 
order and playing positions of the Black Eagle Patrol 
nine were as follows: 

1. S. S., left field. 

2. Specs, shortstop. 

3. Judge, catcher. 

4. Bunny, second base. 

5. Handy, third base. 

6. Roundy, first base. 

7. Nap, center field. 

8. Anvers, right field. 

9. Bi, pitcher. 

The game began. Bunny trotted to his position at 
second, and Bi went out to the mound. The first 
Panther batter stepped up to the plate, swung futilely 
three times, and wandered angrily back to the bench. 
So did the second and third. For Bi was at his best 
to-day, pitching with dazzling speed and a perfect con- 
trol that enabled him to cut the corners of the plate. 

Then the Black Eagles came in to bat. The Lake- 
ville fans in the grand-stand applauded loudly. Mr, 


The Fizzled Ninth Inning 231 

Stanton was there, of course, and Mr. Sawyer, to say 
nothing of Farmer Benton, Miser Meacham, Mr. Rob- 
inson, and several others. Molly Sefton clapped her 
hands, too. 

But it was not a promising inning. S. S. grounded 
out to the first baseman. Specs fanned, disputing the 
last strike with the umpire. Judge popped a little fly 
to short. On the bench. Bunny leaned forward nerv- 
ously, clenching his fists. 

‘‘ I’ll get a hit — sure ! ” he told himself. 

But in the second inning, when he led off, he whiffed 
ignominiously. As he walked away from the plate, 
he glanced up into the grand-stand, where his uncle 
and Molly Sefton sat side by side. Bunny told him- 
self bitterly that he was impressing them — but not 
in the way he had hoped. 

After the first inning or two, the game settled down 
into a stubborn pitchers’ battle. Deek, left-hander, or 
southpaw,” was on the mound for the Panthers, 
and his awkward delivery baffled the visitors. But 
Bi, too, on his mettle to-day, was no less effective. 
To the spectators, and even to the players themselves, 
it seemed the game might go on indefinitely to a score- 
less tie. 

The break came in the first half of the ninth inning. 
Acwalked batter, a bad infield error by Specs, and one 


232 Boy Scouts of Black -Eagle Patrol 

clean hit, inserted just where it did the most damage, 
sent a Panther over the plate. 

They haven’t beaten us yet,” said Bunny grimly, 
as the Black Eagles came in to bat. Who’s up, any- 
how? You, Specs? Well, you get on, and I’ll bring 
you home with a hit over the fence.” 

But you don’t bat after Specs,” objected S. S. 
querulously. 

“ I bat this inning, don’t I ? ” snapped Bunny. The 
strain was making him irritable. “ And if there’s 
anybody on the bases when I get my clean-up wallop, 
we’ll win. Get out there. Specs, and do something.” 

And Specs did. Meeting the first pitched ball flush 
on the nose, he drove out a clean single. Then Judge 
marched up to the plate, swinging two bats, to make 
the final one he retained seem proportionately lighter. 
The tiny group of Lakeville fans were cheering wildly 
by this time, and their voices rose to shrieks of frantic 
delight as Judge poked a Texas-leaguer over short, 
sending Specs to second and perching safely on first 
himself. 

Back on the bench, Bunny thought quickly. It was 
in such a situation as this that his superior baseball 
knowledge really counted. Two on and nobody 
out,” he told himself. It’s good baseball to sacrifice 
them along to second and third. Then a double, or 


The Fizzled Ninth Inning 233 

even a long single, will win the game for us/’ Aloud 
he said : All right, Handy ; bunt toward third to 

pull in that baseman. Play the sacrifice game.” 

Handy did not move. Bi turned a wondering face 
toward Bunny. Out on the diamond, the umpire 
moved about impatiently. 

Handy isn’t up now,” said Bi. '' He follows you. 
It’s your turn.” 

“ Why, yes, sure. I — I’d lost track,” said Bunny 
awkwardly. As a matter of fact, he had been so deep 
in his technical baseball problem that he had forgotten 
the batting order. Pm up, Bi; you’re right.” 

As he walked from the bench to the plate, the Lake- 
ville fans, who had quieted as the game halted, greeted 
Captain Bunny with a roar of applause. 

Touch all the bases as you go round,” boomed his 
Uncle Henry’s voice. 

“ Now the fireworks ! ” It was Molly Sefton’s cry. 

We don’t want them to sizzle, remember! ” 

Bunny smiled up at them. Down in his heart, all 
at once, he felt confident that he could smash out a 
long hit; no, more than that, a triple or a homer that 
would win the game then and there, and make him a 
hero in the eyes of everybody — not forgetting Uncle 
Henry and Molly. Why, it was almost like a story 
— ninth inning, two on bases, two runs needed to win. 


234 Boy Scouts 'of Black Eagle Patrol 

and the hero at bat. He threw back his shoulders 
cockily. 

Two on and nobody out/’ he told himself as he 
stepped up to the plate. And then, in a flash, came 
the solution of the problem, just as he had worked it 
out back on the bench a minute before. Let’s see, 
what had he told himself ? It’s good baseball to 
sacrifice them to second and third.” 

But he had supposed Handy was next at bat when 
he had decided that way. His case was different. 
This was his big opportunity to prove the stuff that 
was in him. He must win the game; he must smash 
out that screaming hit ; he must keep this ninth inning 
from fizzling. With Uncle Henry and Molly Sefton 
watching, why should he sacrifice his chance? 

Deek streaked over a fast, straight ball that cut the 
heart of the plate. Still turning the problem over in 
his mind. Bunny watched it go by without offering 
at it. 

“ Strike ! ” said the umpire. 

Another ball sang its way tauntingly to the catcher’s 
glove. Bunny held his breath till the umpire gave his 
decision. If this proved a second strike, the thing 
would be decided for him. For it would be bad base- 
ball, of course, to attempt to bunt on the third strike. 

“ Ball ! ” decided the official. 


The Fizzled Ninth Inning 235 

Out in the pitcher’s box, Deek wound up for his 
third delivery. Bunny watched him with fascinated 
eyes, gripping hard the bat in his hands. Then, 
abruptly, his fingers relaxed, slipping up the handle a 
little. 

Deek pitched. As the ball neared him. Bunny lield 
out his bat, clasped loosely, and, without swinging at 
all, allowed the whistling white sphere to meet it. 
Just at the end, he pulled the bat around toward third. 

The bunt trickled down the base line. Like an eagle 
swooping for a choice morsel, Deek plucked the ball 
from the grass and whipped it to first. Bunny was 
out by six feet, but Specs was on third now and Judge 
on second. The captain of the Black Eagle ball team 
had played the sacrifice game perfectly. 

The sudden stilling of the noise in the stands cut 
Bunny like a knife. Following the soft plumph as 
bat and ball met, he had caught the first gasps of 
amazement and hope as the ball was being fielded. 
Then came the long-drawn “ Oh-h-h ! ” of disapproval 
and disappointment, tailing off to absolute silence 
through a brief buzz of comment. It was as if the 
Lakeville fans’ proxy had failed them in the crisis. 

As if to make matters worse, Handy fanned. There 
were now two out. Unless Roundy hit safely, the 
game was lost. 


236 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

Roundy cannonaded a shrieking liner to deep right 
field. Specs scored standing up. Judge and the ball 
raced for the plate exactly together, apparently reach- 
ing it simultaneously. Then, from out the mountain 
of dust where the runner had slid, came the important 
word of the umpire’s decision : 

«_safe!” 

The Black Eagle Patrol had won the baseball game 
and the first event of the tournament. 

The Lakeville fans swarmed upon the field. Ignor- 
ing completely Bunny and the players on the bench, 
they rushed for the grinning and happy Roundy. 
Roundy was the hero. It was Roundy’s hit that had 
won. Even Bunny ran out to him and whacked him 
upon the shoulder. 

‘‘ You did it! ” he cried. “ You won the game for 
us!” 

Roundy looked at him. ‘‘ Why, no,” he protested. 
“I only finished out the play. Your sacrifice — ” 

The shifting fans separated them. As Bunny stood 
watching, a hand whirled him around. It was Mr. 
Stanton’s. 

“ I want to congratulate the fellow who won the 
game,” he said quizzically, looking steadily at Bunny. 

Then Mr. Sawyer came up, looking as dejected as 
if the Black Eagle Patrol had lost. He, too, shook 


The Fizzled Ninth Inning 237 

Bunny’s hand, but he did it in a perfunctory way, and 
his eyes kept wandering out to the place where Roundy 
was being urged to make a speech. 

I wish you’d hit it out. Bunny,” he said finally. 

Nonsense ! ” exclaimed an indignant voice behind 
him, which belonged to Molly Sefton. '' Why, Bunny 
won that game by not trying to hit it out. If he’d 
tried to, he’d probably have banged into a double play, 
with runners on first and Second. Then Handy’s out 
would have been the third, with no runs in. I thought 
you knew something about baseball, Mr. Sawyer ! ” 

'' I hadn’t thought of that,” confessed Bunny’s 
uncle. ‘‘We didn’t use this — this sacrifice play in 
my time.” 

“ Oh, yes, you did, Mr. Sawyer,” insisted Scout 
Master Stanton. “ Maybe not in baseball, but in life. 
And we’re playing it to-day, too. The fellow who 
sacrifices does it, not for his own glory, but for the 
bigger thing — the victory of the team.” 

“ But it’s so — so easy to get yourself put out just 
to let another runner advance a base.” 

“Is it? I wonder if you realize how much a boy 
wants to step up and swing at a pitched ball, and how 
he has to fight down the temptation to make a hero 
of himself. It takes brains and courage, let me tell 
you.” 


238 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

A new understanding seemed to come to Mr. Saw- 
yer. He whistled softly. 

Bunny,” he said, I don’t believe I’ve congratu- 
lated you yet on winning the game. It looks to me 
as if you were going to turn out a born leader.” 

"'And about five minutes ago,” remarked Molly 
Sefton, it looked to me as if the fireworks were 
going to fizzle in the ninth. They did sputter a little, 
but they went off with a bang after you got them 
ready, didn’t they, Bunny? My, but I’m glad you 
beat those stuck-up Panthers ! ” 


CHAPTER XX 


THE TRAIL BEYOND 

The great medley relay race was about to be run. 
The starting judge had just given his final instructions. 

‘‘ Do you understand, Black Eagle ? ” 

Nap nodded. The directions were clear. He was 
to follow the red confetti trail, without diverging from 
it, to some unknown point at its end. There another 
judge would turn over to him a written message, a bit 
of wax, and the scout’s own fire-making apparatus. 
He was to rub the sticks till he produced a flame. He 
was to mdt the wax and seal the message, and he was 
then to turn it over to the runner of the second relay 
for his team. Yes, he understood. 

And you. Panther? ” 

Nap’s opponent nodded, too. Except that his trail 
was of white confetti, he was bound by the same in- 
structions. 

Very well,” the judge said. ‘‘ I shall start you by 
counting three slowly, at about this speed. One — two 
— three. Instead of saying ^ three,’ however, I shall 


V 


240 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

fire the pistol. Is that clear to both of you ? Ready, 
then. One — two — 

“ Bang!’’ 

The pause before the explosion had been very brief, 
but Nap’s sensitive nerves were raw. As he sprang 
forward, the first twenty yards of the trail, straight as 
a pole, seemed to lift to meet him. It was as if he 
were running lightly out upon the tapering limb of a 
tree, with the tip a jumping-off place. He dreaded to 
think of what lay beyond. 

The stretch gave way to a gentle curve. Nap took 
it cautiously, leaning inward and watching with fas- 
cinated eyes as his falling feet fanned the scraps of 
red paper into fluttering motion. They looked like 
mosquitoes buzzing greedily at his ankles; he wanted 
to stop and slap at them. But he fought back the de- 
sire. 

Another straight-away portion of the thin, narrow 
trail made him think of a tight-rope, and he balanced 
himself ridiculously with his arms, and put one foot 
directly in front of the other with each step. It was 
this jerky way of running that finally cleared his 
numbed brain. One minute he was feeling gingerly 
for the red rope on the ground ; the next he was laugh- 
ing as loudly as he could without wasting precious 
breath. After that, he tucked his nervous imagina- 


The Trail Beyond 241 

tion away into some cranny of his mind, and bent low 
and sprinted forward with all the speed of which he 
was capable. 

His Panther opponent was not in sight. Nap had 
some dim recollection of having seen him disappear a 
while ago behind a hill to the left. Anyhow, there 
was nothing to worry about. The starting judge had 
made it clear that the two trails, although of equal 
length, did not run along side by side. 

What I want to do,” Nap told himself, ‘‘ is to run 
my best and keep to that line of red confetti. I don’t 
have to bother about the other fellow at all. Prob- 
ably I won’t see him again.” 

But he did. 

The red trail wove into the woods and out again; 
it zigzagged across a broad clearing; it climbed a hill 
and doubled back to its foot; it writhed and twisted 
and circled and curved in a fashion that was madden- 
ing to a fellow who wanted to go to a certain place 
in the least possible time. If only there were some 
way of discovering where that place might be! 

Nap came to an open field. The red trail started 
straight across for once, with no turns or bends to 
confuse. Relieved, the boy lifted his head to study 
the lay of the land. 

At the other side of the field, running parallel with 


242 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

him, was his Panther opponent. He, too, was moving 
straight ahead. Nap smiled a little at sight of him, 
wondering if the white trail had been as tantalizing 
as the red; smiled a little, that is, until he saw some- 
thing in the grass at his feet. It was a line of white 
paper confetti ; as far ahead as he could see, it wound 
back and forth across his own trail. 

'' He’s cheating,” Nap decided instantly, scowling at 
the Panther runner. ‘‘ He knows where the message 
is, and he’s heading straight for it, without paying any 
attention to his trail. Well, I guess he’s smarter than 
I am. I haven’t a chance now of getting there first.” 

But he did not stop. He followed his red trail to 
the far side of the field, into the woods again, and 
through them to another open space. Although he 
searched carefully with his eyes, he caught no glimpse 
of the Panther. Here, at least, he was alone. 

The trail veered suddenly to the right. As Nap 
reckoned the points of the compass, that meant due 
west. He frowned impatiently . at the thought of turn- 
ing aside, for he was confident that the message lay 
in quite another direction. Despite its many twists 
and loops up to this time, the trail had been carrying 
him steadily toward the north. 

But he swung about. As he did so, the afternoon 
sun caught him full in the eyes, blinding him for an 


The Trail Beyond 243 

instant. He turned his head away to shield them un- 
til he could see clearly again; turned it to the right, 
which was north. But even yet his vision was 
dimmed. He fancied he could make out a ragged line 
of red specks somewhere beyond. 

Then, all at once, he understood. The red specks 
were real. They were scraps of confetti, and they 
marked a stretch of trail. 

His first feeling was of pride in his own foresight. 

I knew it,” he said. I knew my trail must double 
back this way sooner or later. It’s probably a long 
U, with the points of the mouth right here only fifteen 
or twenty feet apart.” 

Then, quite unaccountably, he thought of something 
else. We want no coaching in this relay,” the starter 
had told him ; we will allow no spectators along the 
trails. Neither will there be any judges before you 
reach the place where the message will be handed you.” 

Nap slowed gradually till he was jogging along at 
a dog-trot. The sun did not bother him now, but he 
kept his eyes half closed. As h^ moved toward the 
west, he kept watching that twin trail to his right. 

He began to figure. Suppose the wide detour wan- 
dered a hundred yards or more before it circled the 
base of the U and came back to this point ; that would 
mean a half minute or longer to cover it at a fast clip. 


244 Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

It would be a useless waste of time, too, when he could 
skip across to the other arm of the trail in perhaps a 
couple of seconds. Two from thirty or forty — or 
even sixty left a lot. If he gained that much on his 
opponent, he might start this relay race by giving the 
Black Eagle Patrol a clean lead. And the fellows sure 
did want that trip to New York ! 

Let’s see. What was it the starting judge had said? 
Maybe he could remember the very words. You are 
to follow the red confetti trail, without diverging — ” 

Without diverging! Oh, of course. But the Pan- 
ther had left the trail at the first favorable oppor- 
tunity ; he had seen him do it. And — well, who was 
to know if he took a short-cut himself? There were 
no spectators nor judges to spy upon him. 

His trot slowed to a walk. Presently he stopped 
altogether. For a long moment, while he peered cau- 
tiously in every direction, he stood irresolute. Then, 
with lips pressed hard together and hands clenched de- 
terminedly, he reached a decision. 

“ Napoleon won his battles in his tent, before a 
single shot had been fired,” he told himself doggedly. 
“ Well, here’s my chance to win a race before I run to 
the finish.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


THROUGH FIRE 

Four people stood in the open space, all peering in- 
tently toward the east. Two men guarded the mes- 
sages that were to be turned over to the trail- follow- 
ers upon their arrival. Two boys waited impatiently 
to continue the race with a cross-country lap against 
each other. 

They should be here any moment now,” said the 
first official. 

Any moment now,” echoed the second, provided 
they keep to their trails.” 

Are they hard to follow ? ” It was the boy from 
the Panther Patrol who asked the question. 

The trails are plainly marked all the way,” an- 
swered one of the men. “ It was not the intention, I 
believe, to make this first relay a test of woodcraft. 
It was to be a test of scouts’ honor.” 

Judge Lloyd, who had been chosen by the Black 
Eagles to represent them in the cross-country run, 
straightened up with a jerk. A cold fear gripped him. 


246 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

Of all the fellows in his patrol, he was least sure of 
Nap. 

“How did they arrange the test?’’ He tried to 
speak carelessly, but his voice trembled a little. 

“There’s a field back there a bit,” the official ex- 
plained readily, “ across which the two trails run par- 
allel, although far apart. Each is as straight as a die. 
But, looping back and forth over the red one, is a curv- 
ing line of white confetti ; and, looping back and forth 
over the white one, is.a curving line of red confetti. 
These winding trails, of course, are false.” 

“ But I don’t understand yet,” Judge said. 

“ Wait. You will presently. It was calculated that 
the two competing runners were almost certain to see 
each other in this field. Now, the natural thought of 
each would be that the other, in cutting straight across, 
was not holding to his trail, which apparently looped 
repeatedly over his own. Is that clear?” 

“Yes, but— ” 

“ Farther along the real red confetti trail turns ab- 
ruptly to the right. A little later the white one does 
the same. Up to this point, you understand, both 
double back on themselves several times, and both 
work steadily northward. When either runner, there- 
fore, saw a duplicate of his own red or white trail 
some twenty yards to his right, or to the north, he 


Through Fire 247 

would naturally assume that it was the returning 
branch of a long loop. Each would argue that the 
other had already taken advantage of him by cutting 
across the field and thus leaving his trail, although this 
was forbidden by the starter.” 

And if one of them did turn north, off his trail, I 
suppose he was to be disqualified ? ” 

“ Not at all. There is nobody to watch them along 
the way; they were told that. But if either attempts 
to follow the returning trail, he will waste minutes 
before he discovers that it is merely a false scent, be- 
ginning and ending nowhere. We are almost due 
west from the points where the main trails turn. If 
one runner comes in several minutes behind the other, 
we shall — understand ! ” 

Judge nodded and turned away. He was afraid 
for Nap. Why, he wondered bitterly, must the test 
of honor crop up in this particular lap of the race? 
Nap was square enough, of course, but he was inclined 
to be a little sharp ” when the chance offered. Would 
he — 

“ First runner in sight ! ” boomed an official. 

For just a second, hope grew big in Judge. Then 
the other scout who was waiting with him whooped 
happily, and one of the men said : “ It’s the Panther 
representative.” 


248 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

Judge recalled the time Nap had attempted to sway 
young Anvers by offering to allow him to win Miss 
Pedder’s prize for the best composition. He had 
spoken of that scheme as ‘‘ strategy,” and seen no 
wrong in it. Expecting him to hold to his trail 
when — 

'' Second runner in sight ! ” 

It was Nap, all right. He was behind his Panther 
opponent, to be sure, but only a few seconds. That 
meant he could not have swerved from his red trail; 
meant he had been quite honest in his running. Judge’s 
yell was a welcoming volley of which a cheer-leader 
might well have been proud. 

He did not see the Panther runner arrive and drop 
before his fire-board ; he did not hear what the official 
told him. He had eyes only for the distant Nap. It 
seemed to Judge the other would never reach them. 
He appeared to be standing still — no, he was moving 
slowly forward — crawling like a snail — walking 
stiffly — trotting — sprinting — Then, with a last 
dash, like a burst of gusty wind, he swept into the 
open space where they stood. 

'' This way,” Judge called, pointing to the other’s 
fire-making apparatus. ‘‘ Yes, we are allowed to talk, 
but I mustn’t help.” 

Squatting quickly on the ground. Nap straightened 


Through Fire 249 

the pan and notched fire-board with one hand, while 
he fitted the drill into the pit and clapped on the socket 
with the other. A single turn of the wrist wrapped 
the loose thong once about the drill. In another in- 
stant he was pulling the bow steadily back and forth, 
and the pointed stick began boring its way into the 
soft wood. 

His dust smoking? ” 

Judge stole a glance toward the Panther. Not 
yet. He’s jerking unevenly. How’d you let him get 
ahead ? ” 

Stopped once to think of something,” said Nap 
grimly. He was sawing desperately with the bow and 
watching the tiny particles of dust run free. Had 
a chance to take a short-cut and beat him all hollow. 
Stopped to think what the scout law said about trust- 
worthiness, that’s all.” 

'' Oh! ” Judge resisted the temptation to thump him 
on the back, and tell him to let the fire-making go, and 
say '' That-a boy. Nap ! ” or something equally foolish. 
He took it out in grinning. 

There was no humor in Nap, though. He plodded 
monotonously. Ground-up wood ran out of the side 
of the notch in the fire-board to^ the pan beneath. 
Browm at first, it darkened gradually to black. A pun- 
gent odor filled their nostrils. Smoke rose in tiny 


250 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

wreaths. Still he did not stop. He must be sure. 

But when the smoke was a cloud pouring from the 
fire-pan, he tossed aside the bow and began to fan with 
his hand. A glowing coal winked back at him. This 
he pressed with some prepared tinder; it smoldered 
for a tantalizing instant, and then blazed. 

“ You’ve beaten your own record! ” cried Judge ex- 
ultantly, snapping shut his watch. He risked another 
glance toward the rival group, fearful of finding the 
Panther fire-maker gone. But he was not. “ And 
you’ve beaten him, too! He hasn’t a coal yet, and 
he’s sawing like an old wood-cutter ! ” 

Message and sealing-wax had been placed by Nap’s 
side. It was the trick of a moment to nurse a hot fire 
with splinters of fat pine, and to soften the end of the 
wax-bar. As he picked up the message. Nap looked 
quizzically at Judge. 

“Why the freak envelope?” he asked coolly. 

Judge tried to tell him in the same calm, deliberate 
way. But he couldn’t ; he was too excited. “ Call it 
ballast and cravenette,” he said thickly. “ Weighed 
— mean weighted ’th lead to stay in pockets of run- 
ners and jumpers. . . . Hurry, Nap! . . . Weighed 
of — made of oiled paper for swimmer. . . . Quick; 
his dust is smoking! . . . Flap’s scraped; wax will 
stick. Make it — make it water-tight. . . . Done?” 


251 


Through Fire 

Job and explanation were finished at the same time. 
The hovering official took the message from Nap, as- 
sured himself that the work was thorough, and passed 
it to Judge. 

‘‘ Go! ” he shouted; and the second lap of the relay 
race began. 

Judge was off like a deer. The hope of days had 
become a reality. He was ahead, well ahead, of his 
opponent. He could select his jumps; he could take 
time to go around rocks, and through or over fences, 
and across the stream* on the bridge. He had been 
dreading the artificial hurdles in this cross-country run ; 
dreaming of nasty falls and barriers he could not leap. 
But now it was very simple. He could pick his way 
as he chose. 

It seemed to him he had never run so fast. His 
legs moved without effort ; his whole body swung into 
the stride. He felt as if he could do impossible things 
to-day. He was a different Judge, somehow. Gone 
was his dragging excess of caution; gone was his 
handicapping lack of confidence in himself. Barring 
accident, that Panther opponent would never sight him 
in this race. 

He charged joyously toward the low trunk of a 
fallen tree, and rose from a daring take-off to hurdle 
it. But even while he was laughing from sheer en- 


252 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

thusiasm, something happened that choked back the 
laugh like a blow on the mouth. He knew what it 
was well enough; his jump had failed to clear the log. 
But he could do nothing to save himself. His feet 
stopped with a jerk. His head and body toppled on. 
He crashed heavily to the ground on the other side. 

How long he lay there, whimpering weakly over his 
fall, he could not determine. A shadow finally roused 
him to action. It blotted out the light above the fallen 
tree. It rose high into the air. It moved on beyond 
him. And then — and not till then — did he realize 
that the Panther cross-country runner had passed him 
in the race. 


CHAPTER XXII 


CROSS-COUNTRY 

Something seemed to yank Judge to his feet and set 
him running after the other. It was his own will- 
power, of course, but he could not understand the 
queer sense of duty that lay back of it. He didn’t 
want to get up ; he didn’t want to go on with the race. 
All his enthusiasm and confidence had spilled in the 
fall. 

But he kept running in a half-hearted way, dodging 
a stump that leered at him, kicking loose a vine that 
tried to wind about his ankle, and avoiding a hole that 
might — or might not — be jumped easily. He 
wasn’t going to take any more chances. 

As he jogged along, his brain cleared. After all, 
there was one good reason why he should finish the 
lap. He was the patrol leader, and his example 
counted for much. After he had trailed in a bad sec- 
ond, he could tell the fellows about getting hurt in that 
nasty tumble. 

But was he hurt? Wasn’t he shamming? Wasn’t 


254 Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

he looking for an excuse to follow the safest way to 
the goal, even if it chanced to be the longest? 

He considered gravely. His mind reached no 
definite decision, but his legs began to drive faster, and 
he straddled and hopped and hurdled obstructions just 
as large as those he had been going around. 

Then he thought of something else. The next relay 
was to be the swimming test, in which Roundy Magoon 
had been chosen to carry the message for the Black 
Eagle Patrol. Roundy was a fish in the water, but 
it was very important that he should start his lap of 
the race on even ferms, at least. Unless he was ahead, 
or within easy striking distance of the lead, he usually 
showed a desire to give up. Scout Master Stanton 
called it lack of perseverance. In a little private note- 
book Judge owned, there was a line that read '' Ma- 
goon — quitter ? ” He had never been quite sure 
enough of the boy to erase that question mark. 

Now he lowered his head and clenched his hands. 
His knees began pumping up and down like piston 
rods. Probably the Panther runner would beat him. 
Judge told himself, but he wasn’t going to finish all 
alone. It would be a race ! 

A bush blocked his way. Judge ran for it at top 
speed, and sailed over it — or almost over it, for the 
top branches swished against his legs. It was a prickly 





The Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol. Page 


254. 




Cross-Country 255 

bush, and its thorns scratched. But when a second 
one of the same kind loomed ahead, taller and pricklier 
than the first, he did not hesitate. He hurdled that, 
too. Each jump saved a little precious time that 
would have been wasted by turning out. 

The path through the woods led tO' a rail fence, with 
a sloping field beyond. Twenty feet to the right, in 
plain sight, was an open gate. Judge ignored it com- 
pletely, lifting to the jump straight ahead as if he had 
no doubt as to his ability to clear it neatly. Just the 
same, his heart seemed to stop beating as he went up 
and up; it snapped into his throat and choked him as 
his foot hit the top rail and dislodged it with a noisy 
bang; it pounded madly as he came down to earth in 
a confused heap, stumbled, caught himself, stumbled 
a second time, and then recovered and went on in full 
stride. 

He lifted his head now. Near the far edge of the 
field, where it sloped downward to a wooded gully, he 
saw his Panther rival. The other runner was darting 
to one side, at a right angle to the course. As Judge 
watched, he plunged ahead into some sort of an 
opening. 

It was a long lead to overcome, but Judge had not 
given up. He pounded forward with renewed speed 
until he reached the barrier that had temporarily 


256 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

blocked the Panther. It was the trunk of a great 
fallen tree. Tall and solid it looked; higher than the 
other log that had brought him to earth, higher than 
the fence that had almost tripped him — and as un- 
giving as a rock. There was no rail here to break 
free if he jumped too low. 

He hurdled it. Only a heel scraped lightly the bark. 
Save for that, he went over without touching. In his 
mind grew a curious wonder that he could jump so 
well. It gave him new confidence. 

Ahead of him, the Panther runner reached a deep, 
wide ditch with straight up-and-down sides. Once he 
ran toward it, as if he had keyed himself to the point 
of attempting to clear it. Then, slowing abruptly, he 
turned and raced fifty feet to the left, where it was 
much narrower. By the time he sprang across and 
doubled back on the opposite bank. Judge was scarcely 
more than the width of the ditch behind him. 

A clean jump across it would put him on the other’s 
heels. A short one — But he stopped the thought 
dead. He measured the distance with his eyes. It 
was all of fourteen feet. Well, he could do that! 
And he ran at the take-off as hard as he could. 

Somewhere in the final sprint, a doubt snapped at 
his legs. It was like some yelping pup. He wanted 
to kick it away, to forget it was there. But he could 


Cross-Country 257 

not. As he bent his knees for the jump, he felt his 
confidence shaken in the teeth of that doubt. 

He landed with a crash that nearly knocked the 
breath from his body. The jump had been short. 
All about him, dirt and stones rattled down into the 
yawning ditch. Only a sturdy root on the bank, which 
he had managed to seize with his clawing hand, saved 
him from following. 

Working cautiously, he pulled himself to solid earth. 
By this time, of course, the Panther runner was yards 
ahead, but Judge took up the stern chase all over. 
He wasn’t beaten yet. He couldn’t nerve himself to 
jump again, naturally, but probably he wouldn’t have 
another opportunity anyhow. 

He came within sight of a rushing stream of water, 
apparently even wider than the ditch. He wondered 
how they were to cross it till he saw the sign-post with 
its pointing hand, and made out the rustic bridge a 
hundred feet below. 

The Panther runner, already nearing the river, 
slowed to a walk. Over his shoulder, he cast a quick, 
calculating glance at Judge. The latter could im- 
agine his eyes brightening as they swept from the sign 
to the bridge, and then darkening again as they jerked 
back from pursuer to the stream. 

“ He won’t try to jump that, will he? ” Judge asked 


258 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

himself suddenly. He laughed uneasily at the 
thought ; he tried to argue away from it. “ Why, he 
won’t dare! He didn’t go over the fence, did he? 
Or the last log? Or the wide part of the ditch? 
Jump! Of course, he won’t jump! ” 

But the other did. Taking a quick run to the bank, 
he crouched slightly at its end, and launched himself 
upward and forward in a mighty spring. 

“ I can’t make it ! ” Judge found himself whispering. 

It’s wider than the ditch ! I’ll cross on the bridge ! 
I can’t make it ! ” But still he moved toward the river 
at full speed. 

He watched the body of the Panther jumper de- 
scribe an arc through the air, and shuddered as it fell 
short of the other bank by two or three feet and 
splashed heavily into the water. Instantly the hungry 
current sucked it down-stream, tossing it about like a 
cork. 

“ I can’t make it ! ” Judge moaned. “ I’ll cross on 
the bridge ! I can’t make it ! ” 

He still ran. Now he was ten feet from the shore — 
now five — now two — now on the brink. And then, 
without meaning to do it at all, without realizing what 
impulse made him, he jumped. 

There was one dizzying instant when he seemed to 
be falling into the streami. He cried sharply, and 


Cross-Country 259 

flung out his arms. The current wrenched — No, 
that — why, that was the jolt of his landing some- 
where. He — he was safely across! He had made 
the jump from shore to shore! 

But what of the other? Judge whirled quickly at 
the thought, scanning the length of river in a single 
frightened glance. Almost at once, he saw him. 
Down-stream a few yards, in the very middle of the 
foaming current, the Panther was walking ashore ; yes, 
walking, with the water only up to his waist. 

Judge grinned. He might have known the cross- 
country run would not lead over any deep and danger- 
ous river. This was nO' more than a shallow creek, 
for all its loud pretense. With a shrug of his shoul- 
ders, he turned to continue the race. 

The way led through a thicket, down a smooth road, 
and finally out upon a dock, where Roundy, clad in a 
black bathing suit, awaited the message. With a tre- 
mendous sigh of relief. Judge handed it over to him. 
From somewhere behind, he could hear the distant 
swish of bushes as the Panther runner forced his way 
through the copse. 

Placing the envelope on the top of his head, Roundy 
pulled his rubber cap over it. Then, with a fillip of 
his round body, he dived gracefully into the lake. 
There was no splash. Roundy always reminded Judge 


26 o Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

of a seal, a waddler on land, a true fish in the water. 

“ They’ll see ! ” the leader told himself, scowling at 
the mocking smiles on the faces of those about him. 

With that lead I gave him, Roundy will show them 
something worth watching when he bobs to the sur- 
face. Yes, sir, they’ll see! ” 

Well out from the shore, the water rippled and 
parted. A head emerged into the air. A hand lifted 
for the first swimming stroke. 

Now watch him! ” chortled Judge happily. 

There was a hush on the dock. Steps pounded over 
it. The Panther swimmer dived. That meant the 
cross-country runner had finished. But Roundy 
could — What was Roundy doing? 

He seemed to be adjusting his rubber cap, which 
showed a tendency to creep over one ear. As Judge 
watched breathlessly, with some intuition of approach- 
ing trouble, he saw a white envelope snap to the sur- 
face of the water. Roundy clutched for it, but he 
was a moment too late. When he reached again, it 
was gone. The message had sunk to the bottom of 
the lake. 

Back on the dock, Judge buried his head in his 
hands. He could think of nothing save that line in 
his little private note-book : Magoon — quitter ? ” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE TRUDGEON STROKE 

If the ripples left by the sinking message had formed 
a mouth and spoken to Roundy, he could not have 
been more absolutely bewildered. The dive had loos- 
ened his cap, and, in stretching the rubber band to pull 
it lower on his head, he allowed the envelope to spill 
out. This did not alarm him, though; paper always 
floated for several seconds. So, without hurrying, he 
stretched forth a hand to capture it. The fingers 
touched only water. The message had plunged to the 
bottom. 

He did not know, of course, that the envelope had 
been leaded. Now that it had sunk, even this knowl- 
edge would have been small consolation, but it might 
have relieved the dazed condition of his mind. As it 
was, he merely treaded water, with some vague hope 
that the message might pop into sight as abruptly as it 
had popped out. 

What did happen was almost as disconcerting as 
the loss itself. Just behind him, on a line with the 
dock, a head came dripping from the depths below, 


262 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

two blue eyes looked at him with mild distrust, and a 
voice piped : ‘‘ You’d better get going, Black Eagle, be- 
cause I’m going to beat you a mile.” Then a slim 
white arm reached out and over, and the Panther 
swimmer pulled himself even, where he hung for a sec- 
ond, and then past, kicking a shower of water into the 
other’s face by way of disdainful challenge. 

Roundy glowered after him. I’d like to make you 
go faster than that! ” he growled. “ If I had the old 
message, I could do it, too, young fellow 1 ” 

But he didn’t have it, of course, and he couldn’t 
match his skill with the Panther’s unless he did. At 
that moment, it lay on the bottom of the lake, and its 
loss meant the defeat of the Black Eagle Patrol in the 
great relay race. Roundy was sorry, but there was 
no good keeping on after they had been distanced like 
this. He decided he might as well swim back to the 
dock. Maybe he could explain the accident to Judge, 
so they wouldn’t be too hard on him. With this idea 
in mind, he thrust forth a dripping arm for the first 
pull. 

But the stroke was never completed. In mid-air, as 
he was about to drop his flat hand to the water, he 
halted it suddenly. 

“ Why, I can’t turn back,” he told himself wonder- 
ingly, lying on his left side and staring up at the blue 


The Trudgeon Stroke 263 

sky. I promised him I’d deliver that message no 
matter v^hat happened.” 

Roundy sighed. He had no heart for the job ahead 
of him, but a promise was a promise. There were no 
ifs and buts about it. When he said he’d do a thing, 
he did it, that was all. 

He paddled, dog-fashion, about the place where the 
message had sunk. When he had calculated the spot 
as well as he could, he dived, plunging head and shoul- 
ders into the water with a twist that threw hips and 
legs high into the air. This left his body almost verti- 
cal. A thrust of his dangling feet and a few vigorous 
breast strokes with his arms carried him to the bot- 
tom. He wondered if the Panther swimmer could 
dive eight or ten feet down from the surface. Most 
scouts couldn’t. 

It was green and murky below. Roundy opened 
his eyes slowly, taking care not to spread the lids too. 
wide in the stare common to the beginner. He could 
see clearly enough for his purpose, but there was no 
sign of the missing envelope. 

Undiscouraged, he began a systematic search. Now 
swimming under water, now dragging himself on the 
bottom with the aid of slimy weeds, now crawling 
with stones in his hands, he combed a space some ten 
feet in diameter. A half-minute passed. A full min- 


264 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

ute. A minute and a half. Still he peered and 
groped. He had promised. 

But his lungs were protesting now. With proper 
preparation, he could stay under water a minute longer 
than this, but he had found no time to practice the nec- 
essary breathing before taking the dive.* He must 
rise to the surface for air unless — Then, all at once, 
he spied the square of white paper. It lay among 
some weeds, at their very roots. 

By this time, his lungs ached like a tooth. There 
was not a second to spare. With a downward arch- 
ing dive, he swam to the envelope, caught it in his 
fingers as he passed, and thrust his legs, frog-fashion, 
against the lake-bed, shooting himself upward. At 
the surface, he blew out his breath like some great 
porpoise. But the message was his once more. He 
could keep that promise. 

He tucked the envelope securely in his cap, whistling 
a little at its weight, and understanding for the first 
time why it had sunk so rapidly. Treading water un- 
til he could get his bearings, he looked for the inlet 
toward which they were to swim. 

* The average healthy boy can hold his breath under water for 
about forty seconds. If he will breathe deeply through the open 
mouth twenty times to the minute, fully expanding the lungs, for 
a period of two and one-half minutes, he will then be able to stay 
under water nearly three times as long as he could otherwise. 


The Trudgeon Stroke 265 

It was the third mouth of land, wasn’t it? Or was 
it the fourth ? While waiting back there on the dock, 
he remembered, they had marked its position by a tall 
oak in the center of the island, that stood exactly in 
line with it. But now, looking upward from the sur- 
face of the water, he could not see that particular tree 
at all. The whole shore line appeared changed. 

As a matter of fact, counting from this new angle, 
it was neither the third nor the fourth inlet, but the 
second. A raspberry bush grew on the point of one 
of its two little peninsulas jutting out into the lake. 
Good scout that he was, Roundy had not been satisfied 
with only a single identifying feature; he demanded 
more. So his keen eyes had searched till they rested 
upon this raspberry bush. 

He was glad now that he had taken the extra pre- 
caution. He wondered if the Panther swimmer had 
been content with sighting the oak tree. Oh, well, it 
didn’t matter much, one way or the other. The great 
medley relay race wasn’t a race any longer. He was 
only keeping on himself because of the promise. 

A single movement straightened him out hori- 
zontally, breast floating on the surface, legs drawn up. 
With his hand in the air, he reached lazily ahead with 
his right arm, sweeping it downward through the water 
toward his feet. At the same time, he kicked vigor- 


266 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

ously. As his body turned slightly on its right side, 
he thrust forward the other arm, rolling over to the left 
like a water-logged canoe. 

This was the trudgeon stroke : two feet and one arm 
pushing backward together; body pulsing forward, 
first on one side and then on the other ; right hand 
sweeping from the surface in a great arc, left hand 
taking up the task while the mate recovered — right, 
left, right, left, over and over again. 

But there was nothing tiresome or monotonous 
about it to Roundy. He liked to coax the cool water 
over his dipping shoulder, and hear it gurgle softly 
in his ear. He liked to lift his tousled head with a 
quick fling, and laugh at the rainbow in the spray. 
But he liked, most of all, the feel of water driving 
against him, the smart of new-churned waves slapping 
his body, and the urge of eager muscles to be working 
harder and faster. 

He was glad he had kept going. There was the 
promise, to be sure, but he was glad for still another 
reason, which he couldn’t quite put into words. He 
had felt that way once or twice when he had done a 
good turn without any possible hope of thanks or re- 
ward. It was a lot like the thrill of winning a close 
race. 

The farther he swam, the better he felt. He was 


The Trudgeon Stroke 267 

swirling through the water like the fin of a submerged 
fish. The thought tickled him, and he chuckled. 
Why, if that Panther swimmer could see him now, he’d 
swear he was riding a terrified whale, and digging it 
with arms and legs to get more speed. 

The feeling of happiness increased. It was just the 
kind of a day to be in the lake, with a blue sky and a 
warm sun overhead. What if that fresh Panther kid 
had kicked water in his face? It hadn’t left any scars, 
had it? And what if he did have to lose? It wasn’t 
the losing that counted so much as the way a fellow 
lost. After this, he decided, he’d finish out every race 
clear to the end, no matter if he dropped a million 
miles behind. It made you feel good inside to do 
things that way. 

As he headed for the little peninsula with the rasp- 
berry bush on its point, another swimmer came chug- 
ging out of the inlet beyond. Roundy blinked at him 
in profound astonishment. It was no other than his 
Panther rival, and, if appearances counted for any- 
thing, the other had been wasting precious time on a 
voyage of discovery. He had failed to observe that 
the goal of his swim was close to a raspberry bush on 
a little peninsula. 

The two boys were about the same distance from the 
inlet. Roundy set his teeth with a stubborn click; he 


268 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

meant to be there first. Apparently the other made 
the same resolution about himself at the same moment. 
Quite as if the challenge had been cried aloud and ac- 
cepted, each lowered his head and plunged forward. 

But Roundy knew, deep in his heart, that he could 
not be beaten that day. He swam, cleanly, swiftly, ex- 
ultantly. He could have gene on forever; nothing 
would have made him quit. There had been born in 
him a never-say-die spirit, which would serve always. 

As he rounded the point a little in advance, he 
slowed suddenly. There was something he had almost 
forgotten. Waiting till the other was just behind, he 
kicked out joyously with his right foot, sending a great 
shower of water into the outraged Panther’s face. 
Then, having avenged the earlier insult, he writhed 
and squirmed to a longer lead, swam over to the canoe 
in which Handy waited impatiently to be off on the 
next relay, carefully removed his rubber cap, and 
handed over the elusive message. 

'' Don’t quit ! ” he advised Handy solemnly. And 
be careful! No accidents, mind you!” 

No accidents!” promised Handy over his shoul- 
der, dipping deep with the paddle. 

But two minutes later, rounding the tip of the island, 
he ran full upon a jagged rock and stove a great hole 
in the bottom of hisi canoe! 


CHAPTER XXIV 


A MATTER OF HARBORS 

As the canoe struck, Handy dropped limply to the 
bottom. Crunching and grinding in a way to chill 
the stoutest heart, it drove full upon the submerged 
rock. Here, for just a second, it hung impaled; then 
slipped off into the deep water beyond. 

Handy crawled forward to examine the hurt. One 
glance told him it was serious; for already the water 
was flooding in through the long, jagged hole. The 
canoe was sinking'. It was only a question of how 
long it could remain afloat. 

The nearest harbor was the island. Toward this 
Handy swung the nose of the frail craft, digging 
frenziedly with his paddle. His muscles were jerking 
and twitching. His nerves shrieked for him to hurry. 
His very flesh was creeping. He was in the grip of 
utter panic. 

Not a coward at heart, his was a nervous tempera- 
ment that gave way to sudden, overpowering frights. 
Just now he was in a mortal funk; his mind was a 
rioting ground of terror. He meant to beach the 


270 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

canoe on the sandy island, and then run from it as 
fast and as far as he could, till the jarring shock and 
tearing sound were only distant memories. 

Some impulse prompted him to glance toward the 
paddler who was carrying the message for the Pan- 
ther Patrol. The fellow was looking back at him. 
Now, a racing canoeist, with his paddle flying like a 
dog’s pawing foot, has no business allowing his eyes 
to stray from dead ahead; and so what happened to 
this breaker of the nautical rule was precisely what he 
deserved. 

He twisted about to see what Handy was doing. 
This lengthened his reach to the water, without in any 
way adding to the inches of his paddle. On the next 
stroke, as might have been expected, he fanned only un- 
resisting air. There was a tumble backward, a list of 
the canoe, a gurgle of pouring waters, and as complete 
an upset as anybody could reasonably hope to witness. 

Handy stared with fascinated eyes. The canoe had 
gone down by the stern; it shot up out of the water 
bow first, like a jack-in-the-box, leaned over a little in 
mid-air, and slapped down upon the surface, almost 
empty. 

If its skipper had not lost his grip on himself, he 
might have been all right. There was his boat, waiting 
and ready for him to resume the race; and there was 


A Matter of Harbors 271 

he, uninjured and perhaps freshened by his ducking 
on this hot day. But when he tried frantically to 
clamber over the side, the canoe promptly turned turtle, 
spilling him out, and then floated sullenly away from 
him, bottom up. Handy could imagine it saying : 
“ Well, I did all I could to help you before. Mister 
Landlubber ; now you help yourself ! ” 

He chuckled over this conceit. Why on earth didn’t 
that fellow make the best of a bad business? Was he 
going to hang to the overturned boat like a scared rat ? 
Then, abruptly, Roundy stopped laughing. The water 
in his own canoe was six inches deep ; it would sink in 
another minute. Close at hand, on the island, was a 
harbor he could reach in time. A half-mile away, on 
the mainland, Bi was waiting for him to deliver the 
message. 

There was no hesitation on Handy’s part. He 
twisted the paddle in his hands, and headed the nose 
of the canoe toward the mainland. 

The other’s accident had made him forget his un- 
reasoning fear. Now that he could think clearly, he 
had no idea of running away in a panic. After all, 
there was no real danger. He was clad lightly, and 
he could swim. 

Steadily the water crept higher and higher, swish- 
ing and lurching against the sides. He kicked off his 


272 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

canvas shoes expectantly. As long as the canoe made 
fair headway, he kept paddling; but when it began to 
check between strokes, and to skew wildly, he knew he 
was only wasting his strength. It needed bailing 
out. 

He moved backward to the stern. His weight was 
enough. In a mad torrent, the water rushed over 
gunwale and deck to add its volume to that inside. 

Even then, he did not move away. He allowed 
himself to sink, forcing down the stern until the canoe 
was almost vertical. As the Panther’s craft had done, 
his plunged like a diver. When it rose again, he man- 
aged to tip it in the right direction for its fall, and 
grinned proudly as he saw that it rode high. He had 
learned a new, trick about emptying a canoe in deep 
water. 

Getting aboard was simple enough, of course; it 
just happened that the Panther had never learned how, 
or that he had forgotten in his temporary fright. Now 
he watched Handy go over the end like an acrobat. 
A second later, as the Black Eagle scout scudded past 
him, he set about righting his own boat. 

If it had not been for that yawning hole in the bot- 
tom of his canoe, and for the water that flooded 
through it. Handy would have finished his lap of the 
race well in the lead. But there was no way to patch 


A Matter of Harbors 273 

the rip without the proper materials, and, even if he 
had possessed them, there would have been no time 
for the job. His duty was plain. He could only dip 
and pull to the limit of his skill, feeling the canoe ride 
harder and slower with each successive stroke of the 
paddle. 

He sank it again. This time it leaped out of the 
water at a bad angle, and half filled. As he plunged 
it down for the second time, standing aft, the Panther 
canoeist went slipping past. Handy wondered how he 
had managed with the bailing and the boarding, and 
guessed he must have learned from observation. Well, 
it couldn’t be helped if a fellow unwittingly showed 
his rival how to beat him. Just the same, it was a 
queer freak of racing. 

He took up the chase. For the first hundred yards, 
he gained a little. His paddling was cleaner, with 
more finish and more power. He knew better how to 
make the stroke a swing from the shoulder, as it should 
be, and how to use the body in pushing the blade 
through the water. But after that, for perhaps an- 
other hundred yards, he had all he could do to hold 
his own. By this time, too, the water was over his 
ankles in the canoe, and he began to fall behind the 
leader. 

But there was only a little farther to go now, and 


274 ^*^7 Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

he resolved to make the shore without halting to cap- 
size again. With this purpose in mind, he shortened 
his stroke to a mere chop, increasing the speed till the 
canoe was riding along on an even keel. This served 
to keep the water inside from churning about too dan- 
gerously. 

The Panther landed. A team-mate grasped the 
message, and started with it up the slanting clilf that 
walled the lake at this point. Bi waved for Handy to 
hurry. 

Inch by inch, the canoe settled lower. Handy bent 
his paddle with each heaving stroke, but it was like 
driving a water-logged scow. He was hot and tired. 
Perspiration dripped and trickled from his hair. The 
muscles of his arms cut like red-hot wires. His whole 
body cried for rest. 

He dragged closer to the shore. By this time, of 
course, the canoe was half sunk. It shipped water 
constantly over the gunwale of one side or the other, 
and he kept it afloat only by expert balancing. 

The last twenty feet were the worst. His blade 
swirled without apparent result. When the lurching 
boat moved at all, it was to veer crazily to port or star- 
board. But each time he forced it back to its course, 
and each time he knew he had gained a little. And 
so, in this zigzag fashion, he grounded presently on the 


A Matter of Harbors 


275 

sloping beach, just within reach of Bi’s outstretched 
hand. 

As the other sprang away, Handy waded to dry land 
and squatted down to watch. Bi’s stint was the carry- 
ing of the message to the top of a cliff-like hill, where 
he was to turn it over to S. S. for the next relay. 

The Black Eagles had chosen Bi for this climbing 
lap because of his great strength and endurance. 
Handy expected him to dash at the incline and scram- 
ble madly upward like a mountain goat. Instead, he 
picked his way cautiously, tapping with his staff and 
testing each jutting foothold before he trusted his full 
weight upon it. He circled the rocks he might have 
scaled ; he stopped to search for easy slopes to ascend ; 
he took no chances whatever. This was so unlike 
the usual impetuous Bi that Handy stared after him in 
wonder. 

Far above him, climbing with daring skill, the Pan- 
ther scout neared the summit. Confident now of vic- 
tory, he turned to look down upon the plodding Bi. 

With a sharp cry. Handy sprang to his feet. He 
rubbed his eyes to make sure the sight was not some 
trick of his imagination. Then, with hands cupped 
to his mouth for a megaphone, he shouted a thunder- 
ous warning up the hill. 

“ Look out above you, Bi ! Look out above ! ” 


CHAPTER' XXV 


ON THE HILL 

Dirt and sand showered down the side of the hill. 
A stump bowled past. A rock jounced its way to the 
bottom. 

H’m ! muttered Bi. Looks like a mountain 
avalanche. I wonder what — Hello, there’s another 
rock ! ” 

But it was not. As the rolling object came nearer, 
he saw that it was a boy, all flying legs and arms, and 
that he was tumbling head-over-heels down the steep 
incline. 

Why, it’s the Panther scout ! ” said Bi in mild 
amazement. ‘Hf he isn’t more careful, he’s going to 
get hurt.” 

He watched the frantic efforts of the boy to brake 
himself to a stop. Clawing hands gripped the tender 
grass. Stiffened legs dug into the sandy soil. The 
body curled convulsively and then straightened to its 
full length. But still it swept downward in a slipping, 
pitching, rolling jumble of movement. 

It’s lucky he picked out that stretch of sand and 


On the Hill 


277 

grass for his tobogganing/’ Bi told himself. If he 
bounced much on the rocks down below — ” 

The thought broke in the middle, and another took 
its place. Unless the body were stopped at this level, 
it would assuredly crash upon the rocks. 

If Bi had been slow to recognize the danger, he made 
up for it now in quick action. Three strides carried 
him to a point in line with the plunging body. He 
tossed aside his staff. He braced one powerful leg 
against the root of a tree. Then, leaning forward 
with outflung arms, he calmly awaited the collision. 

To his matter-of-fact mind, there was nothing par- 
ticularly wonderful about what followed. Lots of his 
tackles on the football field had proved more exciting. 
The boy came flinging against his chest, driving him 
back and down. Strong as he was, Bi wavered un- 
certainly, and for one tense instant it looked as if they 
might both topple over. But his muscles, flexing be- 
fore the strain, brought him erect again, and he 
grunted shortly to mark the end of the struggle. The 
Panther scout slipped to the ground in a huddled 
heap. 

Recovering his staff, which he would need for the 
balance of the climb, Bi gently prodded the other with 
it. The boy shrank from the contact, trembling and 
crying out. 


278 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

You aren’t hurt,” said Bi, not unkindly. ‘‘ You’re 
just scared.” He reached down and took the boy’s 
arm. Up you come ! ” 

The Panther climber allowed himself to be set upon 
his feet. Under pretense of brushing him off, Bi ran 
a practiced hand over his body, searching for bruises 
or broken bones. But there were none. 

Sound as a dollar ! ” he told the boy, and whacked 
him hard on the back. ‘‘ There, that will take the cob- 
webs from your brain and make you remember we’re 
running a race to the top of this hill. If you’ll take 
my advice, kid ” — he could not resist that thrust — 
“ you’ll climb the rest of the way more carefully. 
Good-by! ” And he began to stride upward. 

He still climbed cautiously, but the accident had not 
changed his style one whit. Moving deliberately, he 
made sure of one level before mounting to the next. 
Where there were two paths to a height, he chose the 
safe one, which usually proved the long way round. 
He stopped frequently to study and ponder. He re- 
treated from sheer walls, preferring to circle them. 
He never hurried, but, on the other hand, he never 
slipped. This gait would have driven a nervous boy 
mad, but they said in the patrol that Bi’s nerves were 
all muscles. 

The Panther was climbing again, too, but he was 


On the Hill 


279 

making sad work of it. Though he now took no more 
chances than Bi, he failed utterly to copy that youth’s 
success. Bi was calm and fearless, but sensibly cau- 
tious; the other was unstrung and frightened, with the 
memory of his fall a hovering terror that held him 
back. Steadily, as they both neared the summit, Bi 
drew farther away from the other, till he had assumed 
a comfortable lead. 

The fall had handicapped the Panther climber in 
another way, by depriving him of his staff. Bi’s 
served as cane, crutch, brace, tester, divining rod, dig- 
ger of footholds, horizontal bar between two end sup- 
ports, and vertical pole when thrust into the ground. 
It was always in use; he could hardly have done 
without it. He was sorry the Panther had lost 
his staff, because he wanted to beat him on even 
terms. 

The last stretch was the hardest of all. The sandy 
soil gave way to rocks ; the incline grew steeper. Here 
and there, in some fissure, a stunted pine managed to 
exist, but for the most part the surface was barren of 
plant life. 

Bi climbed it as he had the other portions of the 
hill, carefully, slowly, surely, winding in and out, zig- 
zagging upward, doubling back on his trail for a fresh 
start, always undismayed and undiscouraged. Event- 


28 o Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

ually, of course, he reached the summit. As he paused 
to examine its flat surface and locate the Black Eagle 
scouts, he was not even breathing heavily. 

S. S. waved to him from a little distance, and Bi 
trotted over to the waiting group. One of the judges 
took the message from him. As Bi understood this 
relay, S. S. was to offer first aid to Bunny, who was 
assumed to have a broken leg. Once the splints had 
been properly made and set with bandages, the latter 
scout could open the message and signal its contents to 
Specs, who was to take it down at the Elkana athletic 
park. 

“ You certainly took your time climbing that hill,” 
complained a querulous voice. 

Bi whirled quickly. It was Specs who had spoken. 

Why — why, I thought you were to be over in 
town, to take Bunny’s signals — Where’s Bunny? 
What’s happened ? What are you doing here ? ” 

“ I’m here to have S. S. put splints on my leg,” said 
Specs sullenly. No, I didn’t say foot,” he added, as 
he saw Bi staring at that bandaged member. That 
hurt’s the real thing. I ran a nail into it a while 
ago.” 

But where’s Bunny? ” 

Where do you suppose ? He’s going to run the 
hundred-yard dash in my place — try to. I’m too 


On the Hill 281 

bunged up. You know what that means, don’t you? 
It’s good-by to the relay race.” 

Bi considered thoughtfully. Specs had beaten 
Bunny in the trial sprints, but only by slight margins ; 
the exchange to-day would mean no great loss on the 
cinder track. But the signaling was quite another 
matter. Specs was as rapid with the flags as anybody 
in the patrol, but he was also excitable. Bi doubted 
if the erratic youngster could send a long message 
without losing his head at some point. 

“ Yes, I know what it means,” he told Specs. “ Just 
this: You last fellows in the relay must keep cool 
and — ” 

All at once, it seemed to Bi, people began running 
crazily in every direction. The Panther hill-climber 
finished with a rush, delivering his message. A team- 
mate dashed away to find splints for the first aid con- 
test. S. S. came racing madly toward the reclining 
Specs. An official trotted over to them. 

S. S. flung the boards on the grass. One was an 
ideal splint for a leg supposed to be broken between 
the knee and the ankle; the other two required some 
cutting and splitting to make them the proper size. 

His knife was out in a jiffy, narrowing and shorten- 
ing one of the latter pieces of wood. When it was 
ready, he clamped it against the outside of Specs’ leg, 


282 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

utilizing the untrimmed board for the inside splint. 

Bi marveled at S. S.’s neat handling of the job. 
The splints balanced perfectly in weight and appear- 
ance. They were bound into place with deft precision. 
The swathing of cloth smoothed out under the gentle 
touch of his hands. A hospital surgeon, with every 
appliance at his command, would not have been 
ashamed of the result. Yet S. S. had been restricted 
by the rules to such sticks for splints as he could pick 
up beyond a certain boundary line, and to handker- 
chiefs and a necktie — his own wearing apparel — for 
bandages. 

He stood up. Ready, sir! ” he told the judge. 

When he stopped to think it over afterward, Bi re- 
membered these things: The Panther worker was 
only half done with his first aid. The official walked 
away from S. S. Specs unconsciously thrust out his 
sore foot, jerking it back with an exclamation of pain. 
Something snapped distinctly. 

It was the splint on Specs’ other leg. S. S. had 
blundered in some way. Bi waited patiently for him 
to speak, to explain, to begin the fashioning of an- 
other splint to replace the broken one. Specs rose 
briskly to his feet. 

Still S. S. said nothing. Bi watched him curiously 
from the tail of his eye. Didn’t he know that unsatis- 


On the Hill 


283 

factory work in first aid must be done over again be- 
fore the scout’s team-mate could start signaling? Or 
was it because he did know that he kept silent ? Come 
to think of it, the official had been out of hearing when 
the splint broke. 

Specs hobbled forward. The bandaged leg limped 
more than the other, as if he had forgotten which in- 
jury was real and which imaginary. It was very 
amusing. But S. S. and Bi looked at him with un- 
smiling eyes. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


GOOD SIGNS AND BAD SIGNALS 

Specs was blissfully unconscious of the broken splint. 
When S. S. stopped him, he was hobbling forward to 
claim the message. 

“ Go back,” said S. S., pushing him with his hand. 
“ Go back; you can’t signal till I fix your leg again.” 

Bi smiled happily. Specs couldn’t understand why, 
but there was no doubting the fact. Then S. S. called 
out to the official who had watched the bandaging : 

One of my splints broke, sir. I’m going to put a 
new one in its place.” 

The man nodded, moving toward them. Specs 
flung himself moodily upon the ground. The catas- 
trophe was too great to look its worst all at once. 

It’s the first one of mine that ever broke,” con- 
fessed S. S. regretfully. He was already busy trim- 
ming the remaining board for a new splint. “ I hated 
to own up, too.” 

“ You saved time by speaking promptly and hon- 
estly,” the official told him. Your signaler would 


Good Signs and Bad Signals 285 

not have begun sending the message till this work was 
done again.” 

Why not ? ” flashed Specs. ‘‘ How did you know 
it broke ? ” 

“ I didn’t. But I knew it would break as soon as 
you stirred about. I’ve seen that splint before.” He 
turned to S. S. Didn’t it strike you as peculiar to 
find a splint exactly the right size and shape lying out 
there? I am not supposed to explain all the prepara- 
tions for this relay, but I may suggest that somebody 
put that particular splint where you found it. More- 
over, it was purposely weakened by the judges — 
There, I’ve let the cat out of the bag! — before they 
dropped it.” 

Why ? ” demanded Specs. 

So that the scout finding it would do what this 
young man here failed to do — test it for strength. 
In the case of a real injury, as you may know, a weak 
splint is likely to do more harm than none at all.” 

Was there another weak one out there?” asked 
Specs hopefully, looking across at the Panther, who 
had just completed his first aid work. 

There were several. The scout from the other 
patrol picked up two, but tested both and threw them 
away. His final selections were firm boards.” 

Specs squirmed. It was not the first time he had 


286 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

moved. He knew he was hampering S. S., and he 
dropped his head and shoulders to the ground, stretch- 
ing out at full length and trying to forget what was to 
happen a little later. But he couldn’t. The disap- 
pointment had become too keen. He wouldn’t be sig- 
naling alone now, as he had expected, unhurried and 
unworried, with plenty of time to emphasize each po- 
sition of the flags. Instead, he would start seconds 
behind his rival, and be nervous and probably inac- 
curate, and keep on getting worse and worse. He 
hadn’t trained himself for signaling; his business was 
to run. 

S. S. finished at last. The leg was clamped between 
two strong splints and bound firmly with handkerchiefs 
and necktie. Specs nodded approvingly. It was a 
neat, workmanlike job; just the sort you’d expect from 
a fellow who had been nicknamed Spick and Span. 

The official nodded, too. He was thoroughly sat-, 
isfied this time, and he smiled at S. S. exactly as Bi 
had. Specs took the message he held out, with some 
faint notion that he’d like to have somebody smile at 
him like that. 

The Panther was already signaling, with his flags 
whirling about like a windmill. Specs tore hastily at 
the envelope in an attempt to rip open the end. But 
the oiled paper was tough and slippery, and his fingers 


Good Signs and Bad Signals 287 

pulled loose. Scowling over his failure, he tried again. 
This time he managed to free the enclosed letter, which 
he unfolded with a savage flap of his hand. 

The message was long and complicated. It covered 
all of one typewritten sheet and part of another. Specs 
eyed it irritably; they might at least have given him 
something reasonably easy to signal. 

Without stopping to read more than the first word, 
he picked up his two flags and faced the distant Bunny, 
whom he could see waiting on a little hummock near 
the athletic park. Allowing one flag to drop in front 
of him, he held the other straight out to the right. 
This was B in the semaphore code, and was the call 
letter of the Black Eagle Patrol. 

It was answered instantly by Bunny, who was to 
serve as both reader and writer-down at the receiving 
station. Specs was now free to signal the message. 

Instead of beginning at once, he turned to look at the 
Panther’s flags. They jerked forward and backward 
like the spokes of a rimless wheel, never faltering, 
never stopping their steady spelling out of words- 
The mechanical perfection was enough to upset Specs, 
and he came back to his own task with shaken confi- 
dence. 

He whipped through the first word of the message 
at top speed. That was to get accustomed to the feel 


288 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

of the flags. He knew his angles were slovenly, and 
his pauses between letters a little slurred, but he hoped 
Bunny could follow him. Evidently, though, he could 
not; for Specs saw him raise both arms horizontally 
to their full extent, thus signaling the letter R, which 
meant '' Repeat.'’ 

He sullenly spelled the word a second time, moving 
the flags more slowly. Again Bunny stopped him with 
the R. Specs groaned his disgust. His sore foot was 
paining him now, and his temper began to rise. He 
wanted to get the signaling done. He wasn’t going 
to stand there all day repeating that first word. If 
Bunny couldn’t read it, they’d better get somebody who 
could. 

But the third attempt promised better. He told 
himself he was working more smoothly and accurately. 
Yes, sir, a blind man could have read his first few let- 
ters. Once he had completed that word, he would 
signal faster; maybe, after all, he could gain on his 
rival. 

A fly buzzed to the back of his neck. He shook it 
off. Another lighted upon his bare arm. A quiver 
of the muscles frightened it away. But a third came, 
and a fourth, and after them a hundred more. They 
swarmed over him, biting at his unbandaged leg, and 
at his face and neck and arms and hands. When he 


Good Signs and Bad Signals 289 

could stand it no longer, he drove them away with the 
swishing flags. 

R,” signaled Bunny, confused by this strange wav- 
ing. ‘‘ R.” 

By this time, of course, the last bit of Specs’ calm- 
ness had taken flight, and he was in no condition to 
repeat that word or any other. He couldn’t remember 
how to hold the flags for the first letter; he couldn’t 
remember any longer what the word was. He always 
lost his head in a tight pinch. All the fellows knew it. 
He didn’t suppose Bunny had a shred of confidence in 
his signaling ability. 

He watched dully as the “ repeat ” gave way to some 
other letter. It was A. Then came M. A-M; that 
was am. Bunny must be sending him some advice or 
abuse, probably abuse. Well, he’d see what it was. 

“ Am — waiting,” he read, “ for — best signaler — 
in — State — to — hit — his — stride — Ready ! ” 

Specs’ heart jumped with pride. Best signaler in 
the State,” Bunny called him. That was putting it 
pretty strong, of course, but — wasn’t he? In the 
simple matter of speed, he didn’t know any scout who 
could beat him. 

The flags drooped to a stop. As Specs watched. 
Bunny tossed them far to one side, pitching them high 
through the air. His action said, as plainly as words : 


290 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

‘‘There, Fm through with them. I know Specs. 
He won’t make any mistakes or signal carelessly. I 
shan’t have to stop him for repeats or explanations. 
Now go ahead ! ” 

Specs’ face crimsoned. He could feel his cheeks 
burning. A glad, hot wave of thanksgiving swept 
over him. If Bunny depended upon him enough to 
throw away his flags, he must certainly signal that 
message correctly. It was like a responsibility he 
couldn’t dodge. And -if Bunny were as sure of him as 
all that, he was absolutely sure of himself. 

Once more he spelled out the first word of the mes- 
sage. With his mind in this new glow of confidence, 
he had no trouble in remembering it or in remember- 
ing how to place the flags for the various letters. At 
the end, while his heart seemed to stop beating for a 
moment, he waited. There was no “ repeat ” this 
time. Bunny had read him ! 

He went on to the next words, increasing his speed 
a little. He forgot the Panther rival. He forgot the 
watching Bi and S. S. He was intent only upon prov- 
ing to Bunny that the latter had made no mistake in 
thinking him the best signaler in the State. 

It was a long and tiring test. The message had 
been made purposely difficult with unfamiliar words, 
with figures, and with clauses that seemed to have no 


Good Signs and Bad Signals 291 

sense of meaning. But Specs plodded straight through 
to the end without pause or serious error, whipping 
the flags faster and faster all the time. He’d show 
Bunny Payton what the best signaler in the State could 
do when he really felt like signaling. 

Not till he had spelled out the last word did he think 
of his opponent. He turned then, expecting to And 
the Panther had been an easy victor. To his surprise, 
the other was just rolling his flags. They had finished 
together. 

“ Well, Bi,” called Specs a little proudly, did I 
keep cool ? ” 

Bi turned* to him with the baffling smile he had given 
S. S. a few minutes before. '' If there are any cooler 
people around here,” he said, “ they’re frozen — 
frozen stiff and solid.” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


THE LAST LAP 

The judges waited, stop-watches in hand. The two 
competing scouts alternated between scribbling on their 
pads and peering toward the waving flags on the hill. 
As soon as either finished putting his message on paper, 
he was to call out, when the exact time would be re- 
corded. This would entitle him to start first on the 
final lap of the relay, followed by the other in as many 
seconds as he fell behind in this signal-receiving test. 

Done ! ’’ said Bunny suddenly. 

Done ! said the Panther scout by his side. 

Click ! ” went one stop-watch. 

‘‘ Click ! ’’ went the other. 

The judges reached for the pads upon which the 
two messages were written. ' Each read carefully, 
nodded, examined his watch, and marked a symbol on 
the paper. There followed a brief conference between 
them. Then one stepped forward to, make an an- 
nouncement. 

“ We find,’’ he said, that both messages are copied 
correctly. Both were completed at exactly the same 


293 


The Last Lap 

time. Inasmuch as this test is a tie, both runners will 
be started together in the final dash. Young gentle- 
men, we will now adjourn to the cinder running track.” 

The Panther scout was Deck, who had pitched in 
the baseball game that morning. He was a tall boy, 
clean and long of limb, with all the earmarks of a nat- 
ural runner. 

'' Here’s where I get even with you for the licking 
you handed us on the diamond,” he remarked with 
quiet confidence. 

I wouldn’t be surprised if you did,” admitted 
Bunny humbly. He wanted to win, of course; he 
was going to try his best to win. But there was no 
dodging Deek’s record in the qualifying meet. It had 
been two whole seconds under the figure Bunny him- 
self had set early one morning in a secret trial back 
home, with Uncle Henry timing him. Yes, Deek was 
undoubtedly the faster. 

They reached the track. Bunny took a tape-meas- 
ure from his pocket, and, stretching it back of the 
white starting line, marked a point three or four inches 
to the rear. Here he dug a little hole. Thrusting his 
left toe into it, he knelt upon the other knee, bringing 
it to a position opposite the middle of his left foot. 
Where the right toe pointed downward, he scooped out 
a second hole, 


294 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

Deek watched him with a contemptuous smile. He 
made his own toe-holes with the tip of his shoe, cal- 
culating with a quick glance their distance back of the 
line. But Bunny was not disturbed by the sneer. He 
had practiced starts enough to know the importance 
of this trifling detail, and he had heard that a change 
of an inch and a half in the position of the left foot 
was enough to make a noted sprinter a yard faster in 
the first fifteen yards.* 

Deek raised his eyebrows at Bunny’s cork grips, 
too, but he offered no comment. 

Are you ready? ” asked the starting judge. 

The runners nodded, moving forward to the line. 

On your marks ! ” 

Bunny slipped the toes of his shoes into the holes 
he had dug. He knelt on his right knee, one hand 
touching the track. 

Get set!” 

The knees came up. The other hand went down. 
He took a long, deep breath. He was crouching now, 
ready for the spring. It was so still before the shot 
that he could hear the slight grating of the self-cock- 
ing hammer on the pistol. 

Bang!” 

*This statement was made by John Graham, former athletic 
instructor at Harvard. 


The Last Lap 295 

Bunny leaped forward, kicking back as a swimmer 
might. The holes offered firm braces for his feet. 
Over to the right, where Deek had been crouching, 
he heard a long rasp upon the cinders, and knew the 
Panther had slipped a little in getting away. That 
meant Bunny was off to a clean lead. 

He doubled it. Before he had gone a dozen yards, 
he trebled it. To the cheering Lakeville spectators, 
it looked as if he were about to leave Deek completely 
in the ruck. But Bunny knew better. This first 
flurry was not a fair match of speed; that would 
come later. It was simply the triumph of knowing 
how to run. 

There were things Deek hadn’t learned. Mastering 
them meant hard work and a constant bothering with 
trifles. Anyhow, you couldn’t get more speed out of 
a fellow than was in him, could you? He jerked erect 
as he left the starting line; Bunny straightened up 
gradually, taking four or five strides before he was in 
an upright position. Deek swung his arms together, 
like a juniper; Bunny flung left arm and right leg for- 
ward at the crack of the pistol, thus balancing his body. 
Deek strove to gain by making his first strides full- 
length; Bunny stretched his, bit by bit, to correspond 
with his increasing speed. There was gain in each 
right method and loss in each wrong. One runner 


296 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

helped himself along; the other held himself back. 

But this was only in the first quarter of the race. 
At the end of twenty-five yards, Bunny heard behind 
him the tattoo of footbeats, already steadying and 
driving harder. In a sudden chill of dread, he called 
upon his reserve force. He was afraid there would 
be no answer, but his legs responded at once. His 
damp fingers relaxed their clutching grip of the corks. 
His breath, held till now for the sake of buoyancy, 
escaped in a long gasp of relief. 

But the trailing steps pounded faster, too. Try as 
he might, he could not get away from them. After 
a little, indeed, his keen ear told him they were creep- 
ing closer, and he admitted grudgingly that the 
Panther could go like a streak. 

He fought back the temptation to steal a glance 
over his shoulder at Deek. He pictured him running 
with mouth open, forehead puckered, fists chugging 
straight ahead, and legs pedaling like mad. He prob- 
ably looked that way himself. But his legs weren’t 
as long, and he couldn’t stride as far. That was why 
Deek outran him so easily. 

The flying feet behind beat louder. The tap-tap 
swelled to a mighty thump-thump. On either side, 
people leaned over the track, shouting encouragement, 
and looking back of him — always back. It was Deek 


The Last Lap 297 

they were cheering : Deek, the trailer, the under dog 
in the struggle. Nobody seemed to pay any attention 
to Bunny, nor to realize that he was running his heart 
out in the hopeless task of beating a faster sprinter. 
His was the real uphill fight, if they only knew 
it! 

Deek was coming like the wind, gaining at every 
stride. It was as if Bunny had slowed to wait for 
him. He hadn’t, of course; his pace was faster now 
than at any time since the start. Deek’s best was 
simply better than his best. 

A hot breath poured against his right shoulder. A 
swinging hand flecked his. He tried to let himself 
out a little more; tried to hold his tiny lead. But it 
was no use. Deek came even with him. 

They were neck and neck. Bunny had thought he 
was running his fastest, but now he uncovered a new 
burst of speed. It was dizzying. The track slapped 
toward him. His legs threatened to tangle. The 
crunch-crunch of shoes meeting cinders was like the 
danger signal of a rattle-snake. And still Deek out- 
ran him. 

“ Beat him. Bunny ! Oh, beat him ! ” 

He smiled. That was Molly Sefton’s voice. The 
first words flung in his face. The next came from the 
side. The last were distant echoes. But the shout 


298 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

spurred him on. He hung grimly by Deek’s side like 
a shadow. 

The other swerved a little. There was no reason 
for it. He had simply turned from his straight course 
on the wide track. But to Bunny it was like the cool 
of a breeze. It freshened him and gave him new cour- 
age. Before Deek knew it, he had shot ahead; only 
by inches, to be sure, but still ahead. 

The end couldn’t be many seconds off now. He was 
too tired to go much farther. The excitement had 
left him irritable and fogged his mind. There was 
some word he had told himself to remember; now it 
was gone. He wanted a drink. He couldn’t land on 
the balls of his feet any longer. When he came down 
on his heels, it sent ugly jolts through his body; he 
didn’t like that. His ankles threatened to turn on the 
bumps. Those legs under him must be somebody 
else’s; his never acted that way. He wondered if 
Deek’s did. 

Why was everybody yelling? .What did the crowd 
mean by getting on the track? Was that a wire cross- 
ing it. Then, suddenly, his vision cleared and he un- 
derstood. The race was almost over. And Deek, 
whom he could never leave behind, was by his side 
again, running shoulder to shoulder with him. 

His finger-nails bit into the corks; they helped. 


The Last Lap 299 

He swung them like dumb-bells, driving his tired body 
along. Well, he had given his best. Nothing re- 
mained but to keep running to the finish — 

Finish ! That was the word he had been trying to 
remember ! Specs had beaten him once — five inches ! 
— because of a weak finish. 

His chin came up. His breast pressed out. He put 
the last ounce of speed into his running, and the final 
yards swept under him like a torrent. At the very end, 
with that word on his lips, he flung himself forward. 

A thin bit of yarn, the finishing-line tape, fluttered 
idly over his arm and jerked loose again. It seemed 
to him he had felt it break across his breast, but he 
could not be sure. He had thought he beat Specs that 
time, too. 

He slowed awkwardly, running stiff-legged, and 
came to a full stop. Things looked queer, somehow, 
and there was an incessant din all about him. He sank 
down on the grass beside the track. 

His head cleared. The ringing in his ears died 
out. Curiously enough, the first words he heard dis- 
tinctly were those one stranger was addressing to an- 
other. 

“ I take off my hat to that youngster,” he said. 

Outrun and up against a faster sprinter, he came 
through with as pretty a win as Fd care to see.” 


300 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

'' Plucky, wasn’t it ? ” ventured the other. 

‘‘Yes, plucky — and something more. You can’t 
beat his kind. Bob. He’d always have the edge in a 
race. He’d begin to win by digging better toe-holes 
than the other fellow, and starting in better form, and 
running straighter and truer, and breathing more nat- 
urally, and helping his stride with body and arms, and 
finishing with head up and chest out. I didn’t suppose 
they turned out boys nowadays as painstaking and 
thorough and trustworthy about details as that. This 
scout movement must — ” 

The shouts in Bunny’s ears drowned out the balance 
of the speech. Somebody — a dozen somebodies — 
told him he had won^ and congratulated him, and talked 
excitedly about the way he had broken the tape a few 
inches ahead of the Panther runner. 

But it was no longer news to him. He was decently 
modest, he hoped, but he couldn’t very well help guess- 
ing the stranger had been talking about him. Bunny 
knew he had won, and how. 

“ Good boy ! ” boomed Uncle Henry. “ I’m proud 
of you.” 

“ I’m glad you’re a good scout,” smiled Mr. Stan- 
ton. He understood. 

“ If you please, kind sir,” said Molly Sefton’s mock- 
ing voice in his ear, “ Dad wants to know if the Black 


301 


The Last Lap 

Eagle Patrol can be ready by next Tuesday for that 
trip to New York City. If — Bunny! Bunny! 
How you did run!’’ 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


LEADER OF THE PATROL 

They were home again. For the hundredth time 
in the last week, Scout Master Stanton counted noses. 
Yes, they were all there — the eight members of the 
Black Eagle Patrol and the one prospective tenderfoot. 
For the hundredth time, he heaved a sigh of relief. 

They were all talking. It seemed to him there had 
never been two consecutive minutes during that week 
when they were not talking. They had begun as soon 
as the relay race was over. They had continued on 
the train East, finally exhausting everybody but the 
Pullman porter, who smiled admiringly over their 
khaki uniforms and said Yas, suh ” and ‘‘ No, suh ” 
at proper intervals. They had talked to a station mas- 
ter in New York City, and to the street car conductor, 
and to the big policeman at the intersection of Broad- 
way, Fifth Avenue and Twenty-third Street, and to the 
elevator man who shot them fourteen stories upward 
in the immense building on the corner, and to the trim 
scout in the reception room of the National Headquar- 


Leader of the Patrol 


303 


ters of the Boy Scouts of America, and to the brisk 
editor in another office, and to the smiling chief scout 
librarian with him, and to lots of other people whose 
names they couldn’t remember. Then, having lim- 
bered up with this preliminary canter of conversation, 
they settled down to the real business of talking. 
From that moment to this, during their waking hours, 
they had never stopped once. They were still talk- 
ing. 

Do you remember the zoo in Bronx Park? ” asked 
Roundy. Well, there was a bear in it that — ” 

“ The fellow who figured out that tunnel under the 
Hudson River must have been a wonder,” interrupted 
the practical Handy. Remember how it tickled your 
ears when the train plunged under — ” 

''Remember Specs’ getting mad because the chemical 
fire-engine went so fast he couldn’t keep up? ” 

" Remember Nap’s thinking that big hotel was the 
public library and trying — ” 

" Remember that wall-scaling stunt they showed us 
the day we visited those scouts on Long Island? 
There’s something we want to learn.” 

" Remember how Judge tried to help a man in the 
rush-hour jam at Brooklyn Bridge, and nearly got 
arrested as a suspicious character?” 

" Remember the time somebody threw mud at — ” 


304 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

Remember — ” 

Scout Master Stanton smiled from the club-house 
window. For months to cdme, the boys would live over 
and over that wonderful trip to New York. After a 
while, too, order would come from the chaos of 
memories, and they would begin to profit. 

“ Remember something else ? ” This was Bi’s deep 
voice, and there was a note of petulance in it. “ Re- 
member reminding me I was assistant patrol leader? 
Remember worrying me when Judge wasn’t around? 
Remember asking me fool questions ? Remember egg- 
ing me on to ask other people fool questions ? Remem- 
^ ber wanting me to get you all out of trouble every min- 
ute or so? Remember expecting me to know offhand 
where everything was, and how to get there. Remem- 
ber getting sore when I went a block or two out of the 
way? Remember making things just abput as dis- 
agreeable for me as you possibly could ? ” 

“ Aw, Bi ! ” 

‘‘ Well, you did. And now Fm going to have my 
little say. Mr. Stanton, I don’t want to be assistant 
patrol leader any longer. I want to resign. I’d rather 
be Number 8 than Number 2 .” 

‘‘ Can’t be done/’ chuckled Bunny. “ I’m 8, you 
know. I’m last.” 

“ But not least,” denied Bi. He was smiling now. 


Leader of the Patrol 305 

Why, if it hadn’t been for you, we’d never have gone 
to New York, because I wouldn’t have had sense 
enough to do my hill climbing the way I did. ‘ Slow 
and sure,’ you told me beforehand; 'safety first, Bi.’ 
And because I climbed that way, and the other fellow 
didn’t, we won the race.” 

" He made me promise that I wouldn’t quit,” con- 
fessed Roundy, reddening a little. " I gave him my 
word I’d deliver the message. That’s why I kept on.” 

" And he passed the advice along to me,” put in 
Handy. 

" Bunny believes in fair play,” said Nap vaguely. 

" One thing sure,” contributed Specs, " he knows 
how to steady a fellow when he’s rattled.” 

" Remember that first aid race we had one day ? ” 
asked S. S. "Well, after he understood he’d been 
careless, he came around and apologized for something 
he’d said to me, and told me he’d bandage thoroughly 
next time. I — I thought of that when my splint 
broke in the relay.” 

For the first time in a week, they fell silent. Bunny 
squirmed uneasily. All the fellows were grinning at 
him like Cheshire cats. He wished somebody would 
say something. 

Scout Master Stanton was wise enough to turn the 
subject before it became too embarrassing. " Boys,” 


3o 6 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

he announced, “ Judge has something to tell you. 
And, Bi, we’ll put that request of yours on the table 
till you hear him out.” 

Judge told them the news in a few words. He had 
graduated from the eighth grade the previous spring, 
and, as there was no high school in Lakeville, he was 
to be sent away to an academy to continue his educa- 
tion. That meant resigning from the Black Eagle 
Patrol, both as a scout and as the leader. 

The fellows pressed close. They hated to have him 
go. They’d miss him. It wouldn’t be like the old 
crowd without Judge. And who was to be patrol 
leader in his place? 

Mr. Stanton looked at Bi. Last year,” he re- 
minded them, when this same lack of a high school 
cost us Buck Sawyer, each scout was moved up one 
number. In that case — ” 

‘'No, siree!” exploded Bi. “I don’t want to be 
patrol leader. I don’t even want to be assistant pa- 
trol leader, I tell you. Why — why not elect some- 
body ? ” 

The scout master nodded. “ I see no reason why 
we should not,” he agreed, “ provided the next in turn 
are willing. Are you, fellows ? ” 

“ Sure! ” said Nap, who was Number 3. 

“ Sure! ” said Handy, who was Number 4. 


Leader of the Patrol 307 

And ‘^Sure!” ‘‘Sure!” “Sure!” echoed the 
others. 

“ Very well, then. The patrol leader will be elected. 
Suppose we figure a bit on the right scout for the 
honor. It seems to me he should be one who has 
helped most in the work we — ” 

“ That’s Bunny,” declared Bi positively. He took 
a deep breath. “ Bunny won the race and the ball 
game, built this house, trained young Anvers as a ten- 
derfoot, saved Miser Meacham’s apple-trees from frost, 
freed an innocent man at a trial, rescued a couple of 
people, and — and did a lot of other things I can’t 
think of just now.” 

Bunny wanted to crawl under the table and hide. 
He couldn’t remember ever having been so dum- 
founded in all his life. Here he was, the smallest, the 
newest scout, and Bi was proposing him for patrol 
leader. 

He expected a storm of protests from the other mem- 
bers. But they seemed to think just as much of him 
as Bi did. And they didn’t talk, either, like fellows 
who were saying so just to be polite. 

Bi saw him hesitating. “ If yoti’ll be patrol leader,” 
he promised, sighing deeply, “ I’ll keep on at the old 
job of assistant.” 

“ I’d like to have you,” said Bunny gratefully. 


3o 8 Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol 

In this way, without any fuss or formality what- 
ever, Bunny Payton was elected leader of the Black 
Eagle Patrol. 


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Realistic Stories of College Athletics 


WELLWORTH COLLEGE 
SERIES 


By LESLIE W. QUIRK 


1. The Fourth Down 

2. The Freshman Eight 

3. The Third Strike 

Illustrated by Henry S. Watson. $1.20 net, each 
iiSLIE W. QUIRK is justly one of the most popu- 



i A lar writers of books for boys, and is unexcelled 
in his ability to adorn a tale with a moral. This series, 
which has been cordially endorsed by the Boy Scouts 
of America, deals chiefly with the athletic side of college 
life and has for its hero a manly fellow, “Penny” 
Wayne, whose term is replete with setbacks and tri- 
umphs, disappointments and achievements. 

Mr. Quirk understands boys and he understands athletics, 
and his influence is on the side of true manliness. — Christian 
Register^ Boston. 

“The Fourth Down” is full of action and interest; the 
characters are the sort that boys like to get acquainted with. 
— The American Boy. 

The ideals are of the best in “ The Freshman Eight,” and 
the book is of the right type to put into the hands of boys 12 
to 16. — Springfield Republican. 


little, brown & CO., Publishers 

34 BEACON STREET, BOSTON 




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